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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124601">Lace or Leather</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousunflower/pseuds/ominousunflower'>ominousunflower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Burgundy and Blush [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adrinette, Anxiety Disorder, F/M, Fashion contest, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Innuendo, Marichat, Mutual Pining, Not Season 3 Compliant, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:35:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>76,169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ominousunflower/pseuds/ominousunflower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Adrien offers to be Marinette's model for an upcoming fashion contest, she knows it's the perfect opportunity for them to get closer. Finally, after months of pining, she'll be able to ask Adrien Agreste on a date. </p><p>She just needs to think of a design...and stop thinking so much about Chat Noir. </p><p>(Both of those things are harder than they should be.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Burgundy and Blush [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1481684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>684</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey y'all! Finally, the sequel to <i>Burgundy and Blush</i> has arrived! However, you don't need to read the previous fic to understand this one--you just need to know that in the first fic, Chat Noir was Marinette's date to the school's masquerade dance. </p><p>Also, two quick notes: (1) In the first fic, I accidentally wrote that the dance was at the end of the year. That is incorrect. This fic takes place during the last several weeks of school--around April/May through June. (2) The first fic took place during early Season 3, since that's when I wrote it. However, this sequel is officially canon-divergent; if I don't mention a Season 3 episode, assume it didn't happen. </p><p>Hope y'all enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Evening sunlight streams through the wide windows of the bakery, illuminating the cash register Marinette stands behind. Eyes narrowed, she drums her fingers against the machine and watches her customer fish through his wallet for money.</p><p>He’s blond, but the wrong kind of blond. Instead of honey-gold, his hair is more of a platinum, the pale locks swept back to reveal equally pale blue eyes.</p><p>Blue eyes—and Marinette distinctly recalls, from the dance three nights ago, that Chat’s eyes are a brilliant green whenever he’s not transformed.</p><p>Two strikes.</p><p>The customer presents a few euros, and Marinette holds out a hand as he drops them into her palm. She inspects his hand as he does, failing to find a ring on his fingers.</p><p>He’s given her exact change, so she drops the coins into the cash register and hands him his to-go bag. “Here you go!” she says.</p><p>“Thanks,” he says, accepting the bag. Marinette thinks his voice sounds too deep to be Chat’s. “Have a good day.”</p><p>Without another word, he turns and strolls out the door.</p><p>Once he’s gone, and the bakery is empty once again, Marinette glances down at her kwami. Tikki is currently sitting at the base of the cash register, out of sight from anyone who walks through the door of the bakery.</p><p>“That couldn’t possibly be Chat,” Marinette says. “Right? His hair and eyes were wrong, he wasn’t wearing a ring, and he didn’t tease me once.”</p><p>“Marinette,” Tikki chides, for the third time in the past hour. “You know I can’t tell you his identity.” She rolls her large eyes. “And no, that wasn’t him. But stop asking me that every time a blond boy walks into the bakery!”</p><p>“I know, but…” Propping her elbows on the counter, Marinette leans forward and chews on one of her nails. “You heard Chat on Friday! He said he’d see me <em> sooner than I think. </em>What else could he have meant, except that he’s going to visit the bakery as a civilian?”</p><p>“He probably meant that he's going to pick up the jacket he left behind,” Tikki says, which has been her answer every time Marinette asks that question.</p><p>Marinette hates how practical it is. And that’s how she knows it’s wrong, because with Chat, there’s always something more hiding in his words.  </p><p>Stupid cat. She wouldn’t be investigating every blond boy who walks into her bakery if it hadn’t been for that comment a few nights ago.</p><p>He’d been her date for the masquerade dance at her school—disguised as her long-distance friend “Charles” from Lyon—and after an akuma attack interrupted the event, they’d gone back to her balcony for snacks. Then they’d danced on the Eiffel Tower together, which was a nice thing for friends to do. Of course, yes, that dance had involved a love confession, but it had been a <em> platonic </em>one…even if the memory of Chat’s sparkling eyes and trembling voice still makes Marinette’s stomach flutter.</p><p>Afterwards, Chat dropped Marinette off on her balcony, and when she said that she’d see him around, he replied, <em> Maybe even sooner than you think. </em></p><p>Tikki thinks that Chat is coming back to retrieve the suit jacket he forgot at Marinette’s place, but Marinette isn’t convinced. He’d said the words coyly, with a wink, as if he knew something that she didn’t. The only rational explanation is that he’s going to try visiting her without a mask.</p><p>“I don’t know, Tikki,” Marinette says. “Chat sounded like he was planning something.”</p><p>Tikki sighs. “Just don’t work yourself up.”</p><p>Fifteen uneventful minutes pass, with a handful of customers coming and going. Marinette makes recommendations and small talk, all while keeping an eye on the clock. Her parents left her in charge while they complete some deliveries, which means she should be relieved of her duties sometime in the next half hour.</p><p>When the bakery empties out again, Marinette slips Tikki a macaron from one of the cases. “Maybe you’re right,” she says, watching Tikki nibble at the pastry. “Chat is pretty careful. He wouldn’t risk his secret identity just to play a joke on me.”</p><p>“Right!” Tikki says. “I doubt he would do that.”</p><p>Before Marinette can respond, the door to the bakery swings open in the corner of her eye.</p><p>“Bonjour,” Marinette says automatically, turning to the door. “How can I…”</p><p>She trails off and mentally curses. <em> Another </em>blond boy? Did every blond male in Paris just randomly decide to visit the bakery today?</p><p>The blond boy smiles at her. “I’m just looking.” He points to a case. “Which pastry would you recommend?”</p><p>“Um.” Marinette glances down at Tikki, searching for some sort of clue in her eyes. But Tikki just sighs and turns away, hugging her half-eaten macaron close. “I guess the, uh—do you like chocolate? We have pain au chocolat, and some American-style chocolate chip cookies. There’s also chausson aux pommes or tarte tatin, if you like apples, or…well, we have a lot of things.”</p><p>The blond boy nods. “Alright. I’ll keep those in mind.”</p><p>As he strolls along the display cases, Marinette can’t help but squint at him, searching for any signs of Chat in his demeanor. His hair is almost the right color—maybe a little darker, but then, it could just be the light. She can’t get a good enough glimpse of his hands or his eyes, though.</p><p>“Do you know what a cat’s favorite pastry is?” Marinette tries.</p><p>The boy doesn’t respond right away. After a moment, he seems to realize that Marinette was talking to him, because he looks up with his brow furrowed. “Can cats eat pastries?”</p><p>“Not really,” Marinette says, face burning in embarrassment. She’d thought he’d realize that she was setting up a joke. “I was, um—it was just—uh, oops! I just dropped something. One second.”</p><p>She crouches on the ground behind the counter, and Tikki stares down at her from above. <em> Him? </em>Marinette mouths.</p><p>Tikki shrugs and turns away, finishing off her macaron.</p><p>Marinette sighs and stands, smoothing down her shirt and brushing nonexistent crumbs from her pants. By now, the boy has gone back to browsing the cases, and it seem he’s forgotten Marinette’s flub a few moments before.</p><p>As he browses, Marinette keeps her eyes glued to him, searching for similarities between him and Chat. All she needs is a smirk, a laugh, and she’ll crack him open like a Lila Rossi oyster.</p><p>Finally, the boy approaches the counter and fixes his green eyes on Marinette. “I was thinking a croissant aux amandes?” he says, gesturing to the pastry.</p><p>Marinette frowns. Is this Chat, messing with her? She’d seen his acting skills at the dance; maybe he’s just pretending to be a stranger right now. “Sure,” she says. She crosses to the case, grabs a pair of tongs, and plucks up the pastry, then drops it into a paper bag. “Anything else?”</p><p>“That’s all,” he says.</p><p>Behind him, the door opens and closes again, but Marinette doesn’t look. She’s too busy searching the boy’s face for clues. Before she can check his fingers for a ring, though, he shoves his right hand into the pocket of his jeans and holds out a bill with his left.</p><p>Marinette accepts the bill—noting that the boy is careful not to let their hands touch, which seems unlike Chat—and then she gives him his change along with the pastry bag.</p><p>“Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry, what were you saying about cats before? Their favorite pastries?”</p><p>“Uh.” Marinette grimaces, sensing that she’s about to make a fool of herself. “The, uh…their favorite is the maca-<em>ronron</em>.”</p><p>He stares at her in confusion, and after a few painful seconds, his expression clears. “Oh, I get it. Because cats purr.”</p><p>Marinette cringes. “Right. Cats don’t—you shouldn’t feed them pastries. It was just a pun.”</p><p>The boy nods. “Nice.” He picks up his bag and waves. “Well, have a good evening.”</p><p>As he walks out the door, Marinette glares at his back. There’s no way he’s Chat Noir. He has no sense of humor, he’s not muscular enough, and now that Marinette thinks about it, he’s not nearly as well-dressed as she would expect. Hadn’t Chat worn a designer suit to the dance, and said that his family takes fashion very seriously? No, this can’t be him.</p><p>“Whoa, what did that guy do to you?” a voice whispers from her right.</p><p>Marinette jumps and whirls around. “I—he—Adrien!”</p><p>Standing next to her is Adrien Agreste, clad in a white and green tank top and basketball shorts. The clothes show off biceps, calves—and if he turned to the side, maybe even a glimpse of his chest—</p><p>“Marinette?” Adrien says. “Sorry, should I come back another time?”</p><p>“N-no,” Marinette says. Her eyes flick around Adrien’s form, taking in his sweat-darkened hair, his bare limbs, his gleaming green eyes. “Uh, where…when did you…”</p><p>Adrien raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “About a minute ago. You didn’t see me, since you were…” His mouth twists in a frown. “Staring at that guy?”</p><p>“He was, uh…blond,” Marinette says, as if that explains anything.</p><p>“Oh?” Adrien says, folding his arms. “You’ve got something against blonds?”</p><p>Marinette momentarily zones out, mentally tracing Adrien’s messy golden locks. How would it feel to touch his hair? It looks a little damp right now, but she’s sure it would be soft. “Uh,” she says. “No, no! The opposite. Um, I mean—”</p><p>“I see,” Adrien says. He grips his chin as if in thought. “You’ve got a <em> thing </em>for blonds. Sounds like you have good taste.” Then he winks, which nearly makes Marinette faint.</p><p>Marinette groans. “No, that’s not it! I mean, I do like blonds, or, well—I like <em> a </em>blond, maybe two…” She squeaks, covering her face. “I’ll shut up now.”</p><p>“Relax,” Adrien says. “Sorry, Marinette. I was just teasing. Everyone has their preferences.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Marinette asks, crossing her arms. “And what are yours, then?”</p><p>“Me?” Adrien says. He smiles and takes a step closer. “Personally, I have a thing for blue eyes.”</p><p>For a moment, his comment bounces around in Marinette’s skull like a ball in a pinball machine, pinging off the walls until it lands in the hole. She gasps. “Luka?”</p><p>Adrien frowns, the skin between his eyes scrunching adorably. “What?” he says. “I mean—he’s cute, but no. I was thinking of someone else.” He raises his eyebrows, as if he’s waiting for Marinette to guess who.</p><p>Marinette mentally runs through a list of people who have blue eyes. “Rose? Aurore?” she says. “Surely not Chloé<em>.” </em></p><p>“No, no!” Adrien says, frantically waving his hands. “Uh, forget I said anything.”</p><p>“Well, now I’m curious,” Marinette says. “And I’ll have you know, I’ve hung around with Alya enough that I’ve become something of a super-sleuth.”</p><p>“Oh?” Adrien says. “Well, Detective Dupain-Cheng, you forgot someone rather obvious who has blue eyes.”</p><p>“Alix?” Marinette tries, sensing that she’s wrong even as she says it.</p><p>Adrien sighs. “Never mind.”</p><p>But Marinette’s stuck on this problem, now, like a puzzle she has to solve. Someone Adrien likes. Someone who’s not in their class.</p><p>“Is it that girl you have a crush on?” Marinette asks.</p><p>She recalls, from a few conversations where Nino was not so subtle, that Adrien has harbored a crush on some mystery girl for a while. Marinette had always assumed that Adrien’s mysterious love must be Kagami—except Kagami has brown eyes, so if Adrien’s crush has blue eyes, then it must be someone that Marinette doesn’t know.</p><p>And that’s an odd thought. Because Adrien has such a small circle of friends, Marinette’s almost certain that she would know any person he has feelings for. But, well, maybe Adrien knows more people than she realizes. That’s not surprising, for someone who goes to as many galas and premieres as he does.</p><p>Adrien sighs yet again, but it’s a frustrated huff, not the lovelorn sound Marinette would expect. “She also happens to have blue eyes, but that’s—she’s—that’s still not who I’m talking about.”</p><p>He runs a hand through his messy locks, and Marinette notes that unkempt hair is a good look on him. (Of course, it also reminds her of Chat, but she refuses to let thoughts of her partner distract her from the cute boy standing in front of her.)</p><p>“Oh,” Marinette says. “Well! I guess I don’t know this person, then.” Adrien doesn’t respond, and Marinette nervously tugs at one of her hair ties. “So! Uh, basketball!”</p><p>“Right,” Adrien says. “Sorry, I just came from practice, so I’m probably sweaty and gross. I guess I should have showered first, but I really wanted to see you—uh, I mean, your pastries.” He stares at one of the glass cases, his cheeks pink.</p><p>“I have pastries!” Marinette says loudly. “And, uh, I’m sure you smell great! Well, I mean, maybe not great. You <em>are</em> pretty sweaty. But it’s a hot kind of sweaty, so…” She groans, squeezing her eyes shut. “I thought I’d gotten better at this.”</p><p>“Oh, no, my ego appreciates this,” Adrien says. “I never realized my sweat was that attractive.”</p><p>Marinette’s eyes snap open, and she scowls. For some reason, the phrase <em>stupid cat</em> rings through her mind, even though this is Adrien she’s dealing with. “Are you going to buy something?” she asks.</p><p>“If I don’t, are you going to kick me out?”</p><p>“You’re distracting me from my other customers.”</p><p>“I don’t see any other customers.”</p><p>“Well,” Marinette says, “they’re probably afraid to come inside because there’s a weird sweaty boy commandeering my attention.”</p><p>“I fail to see the problem,” Adrien says. He props an elbow on the wheeled cart next to him. “After all—”</p><p>“Adrien,” Marinette says. “That cart isn’t...”</p><p>“I mean,” Adrien continues, “it’s kind of nice that we have the place to oursel—”</p><p>As Adrien puts his weight on the cart, it rolls away from him, leaving him flailing with nothing to hold on to. Before Marinette’s Ladybug-reflexes can save him, Adrien falls over with a loud thump.</p><p>“Adrien!” Marinette says, holding a hand to her mouth. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, that’s a rollaway cart, and the wheels weren’t locked, so—”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Adrien says with a wince. “I guess that’s what you were trying to warn me about.”</p><p>Marinette plants her hands on her hips. She’s noticed that Adrien’s basketball shorts have ridden up to reveal his athletic thighs, and she has resolved to ignore that particular detail. “You would have realized that if you hadn’t been so busy teasing me.”</p><p>“Ah, well.” Adrien rubs the back of his neck and laughs. “I guess it made me <em>fall</em> for you, huh?”</p><p>Marinette groans. “That was horrible,” she says, holding out her hand. “And I’m used to bad puns.”</p><p>“You’re complaining about puns?” Adrien says. He places his hand in hers, his fingers a bit sticky against her skin—but Marinette doesn’t care, because heavens above, she’s holding Adrien Agreste’s hand. “And did my ears deceive me earlier? Weren’t you talking to that guy about cats liking <em>macaronrons?”</em></p><p>“You overheard that?” Marinette asks, aghast. She pulls Adrien to his feet and reluctantly lets go of his hand. “Oh, no. That—I don’t usually—”</p><p>“I thought you were going to tell him that cats like tarte ta-<em>thon</em>,” Adrien says. “Cats love tuna, after all. But I think your pun was better.”</p><p>“No, no, no,” Marinette says. She makes an X over her chest with her arms. “No puns. No cats. This is a cat- and pun-free zone.”</p><p>“But Marinette,” Adrien says. “You could probably use one or two cats around here. After all, it is a pâtis-<em>souris.” </em></p><p>Marinette stares at him in disbelief. Tarte tathon? Pâtissouris? No, it can’t be. There’s no way she’s crushing on <em> two </em>terrible punners.</p><p>Yes, there’s no way—because Marinette doesn’t love Chat like that. She only has her eyes on one boy with a penchant for wordplay, and that’s Adrien.</p><p>“Are you implying that my bakery has mice?” Marinette asks. “Because that’s no way to win me over.”</p><p>“I’m not sure about mice,” Adrien says, “but it does have something small and cute.”</p><p>Marinette’s first thought is that Adrien is talking about Tikki—but no, that can’t be right. Adrien doesn’t know about her kwami.</p><p>“You mean…macarons?” Marinette asks, confused.</p><p>Adrien squints at her. “Are you <em> sure </em>you’re a super-sleuth?”</p><p>He’s being a little infuriating, but of course, Marinette doesn’t tell him that. She’s never spoken to Adrien for this long without mixing up her words before, and she doesn’t want to ruin that.</p><p>“Small and cute,” Marinette muses. “Well, if you’re talking about living things—”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“Then the only two living things in this bakery right now are you and me.”</p><p>“Now, see?” Adrien says. “Maybe you’re a detective after all.”</p><p>“But…”</p><p>Adrien is definitely cute, but Marinette wouldn’t call him <em> small. </em>Tall and cute, maybe. And if he’s not talking about himself, then…</p><p>“M-me?” Marinette splutters. “That—I—you…”</p><p>If she didn’t know any better, she’d say Adrien was flirting with her. After all, he’d just implied that she’s cute. (And small. Which isn’t fair, since Adrien is taller than most of their class.) But Marinette knows that it’s just harmless teasing—because Adrien’s mystery girl looms in the background of every exchange, reminding Marinette that she doesn’t really have a chance with him.</p><p>“So, can I get you anything?” Marinette asks. “A pastry? An ice pack?”</p><p>Adrien rubs his neck. “No ice pack necessary,” he says. “I don’t think I fell too hard. But I might take you up on the pastry.”</p><p>“Sure!” Marinette says. “What can I get you? It can be on the house, since you almost got injured by our rollaway cart.”</p><p>Adrien doesn’t even look at the display case. Gingerly leaning on the counter that hosts the cash register, he asks, “What’s the most delicious thing here?”</p><p>“You,” Marinette blurts out, before her brain can tell her not to say that.</p><p>Stomach flipping, she watches as Adrien’s entire face turns bright red. “Oh. Um. I don’t think I would fit in one of your paper bags?”</p><p>Right. Yes. That’s the only problem with what she just said.</p><p>“How about some pain au chocolat?” Marinette asks, mentally kicking herself. “You like bread. And chocolate. Uh, I mean, do you like bread and chocolate? That is, it’s a croissant, not a loaf of bread, but…”</p><p>“That sounds good,” Adrien says, still blushing.</p><p>“Good.” Marinette sighs in relief. “That’s good.”</p><p>She stands there, and Adrien’s eyes flick between her and the display case. “Um,” he says. “Am I supposed to serve myself?”</p><p>“What? No!” Marinette squawks. “I’m sorry. I was—I’ll just—one second.”</p><p>Blushing, she scampers over to the display case and grabs a pain au chocolat with a paper wrapper. Then she hastily hands it off to Adrien, who’s watching her with an amused expression.</p><p>“I guess I can eat it here,” he says, taking the pastry.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Marinette says. “Did you want a to-go bag? I’m a mess, I wasn’t even thinking—”</p><p>“Marinette, hey,” Adrien says. “It’s fine. I’d rather eat it now, anyway. Basketball practice works up an appetite.” Smiling, he takes a bite of the pain au chocolat, scattering crumbs on his jersey. “By the way, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”</p><p>More talking? Marinette’s not sure how much longer she can keep the conversation going before she becomes a complete scatterbrain.</p><p>“Sure!” she says brightly. “What is it? Love advice? Food recommendations? Hamster names?”</p><p>Adrien laughs, and the sound is light and sweet like the pastry he’s eating. “None of those, no. I wanted to give you some exclusive info.” He leans further across the counter, until he’s close enough that Marinette can see the crumbs dotting his lips. “You see, my father may or may not be hosting an amateur fashion contest in a few months.”</p><p>“He—really?” Marinette says. That wasn’t at all what she expected Adrien to say. Something stupid like asking her how to date other girls, maybe, or a question about the ingredients in the pain au chocolat. But not <em> that. </em>“Isn’t that the one for lycéens, though? Am I even eligible?”</p><p>Adrien grins, and Marinette’s eyes zero in on the smudge of chocolate on his left front tooth. “Well, it <em> was, </em>but…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>“He’s recently been persuaded to open it up to collègiens as well,” Adrien says. “He’s announcing it later this week, but I thought you’d like a bit more notice.”</p><p>“But—that’s—oh, my,” Marinette says. Her mind is racing away from the conversation, like a plane rapidly building up speed for take-off. “Isn’t the deadline soon? I hadn’t even thought about applying, since I was too young. Why did he change his mind?”</p><p>“Well,” Adrien says, mouth full of croissant. “When I found out it was only for lycéens, I reminded him that there are equally talented collègiens in the city—or, well, one in particular, really. So he decided to open up the competition to younger applicants.” He runs a hand across his mouth, wiping away a fraction of the crumbs on his lips. “You’d still need to submit a portfolio to get in…but Marinette, I’ve seen your work, and you’re one of the most talented designers in this city, regardless of age. You’ll get into the contest, no question.”</p><p>“You convinced your father to expand the competition for me?” Marinette says. Adrien’s comment about <em> one talented collègien in particular </em>hasn’t escaped her. “Really?”</p><p>Adrien’s cheeks flush. “Of course. If anyone deserves to be in this contest, it’s you. And, well…”</p><p>Marinette raises an eyebrow. “Is there something else?”</p><p>“Uh.” Adrien takes another bite of pain au chocolat, clearly stalling. “Well, usually they assign models for this sort of thing, so if you wanted…”</p><p>“Wait, are you offering?”</p><p>Adrien nods. “I really like you—I mean, I really like your designs, so—if you want, I’d be happy to model for you.”</p><p>Of the hundred thoughts whirling around Marinette’s mind, the one that actually escapes her mouth is, “Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”</p><p><em> No, no! </em> the rest of her brain yells. <em> What are you doing? Say yes! </em></p><p>“Oh, my father might not even notice I’m there.” Adrien shrugs. “What I do doesn’t really concern him, so I doubt me modeling for you will sway anything in your favor. There’s a whole panel of judges, anyway.”</p><p>“That’s…” Marinette wants to say <em> that’s good, </em>but she’s stuck on part of what Adrien just said.</p><p>Adrien’s father isn’t concerned about what he does? Marinette had always been under the impression that Gabriel Agreste dictated every minute of Adrien’s schedule, always making sure that he knew exactly what his son was doing at any given time. How could someone that domineering be so detached at the same time?</p><p>All those times Gabriel kept Adrien from going out with his friends—he didn’t just ignore his son while he sat alone in his room, did he? </p><p>“I’d love that,” Marinette finally says. “It would be nice to spend some more time together.”</p><p>“That’s what I was thinking!” Adrien says. “I hardly ever see you outside of class, so I thought maybe this would be a good opportunity to hang out.”</p><p>“Is that the real reason you convinced your father to expand the competition?” Marinette asks, teasing. “So you could spend more time with me?”</p><p>“I—I, uh—no!” Adrien says. Marinette could be wrong, but she’s pretty sure he’s blushing again. “That’s not—I—that’s not the <em> only </em>reason. I mean…” He holds up his wrist and glances at it, even though he’s not wearing a watch. “Oh, I didn’t realize the time. I’d better get home before my father notices I’m late. Or, well, before Nathalie does. He probably wouldn’t notice if I didn’t come home.”</p><p>It’s the second comment he’s made about his father, and while Marinette wants to write off Adrien’s words as a joke…he’s got the same quiet sadness in his eyes that sometimes appears in Chat’s, as if his joke is just a bandage to cover up his pain.</p><p>How did Marinette never notice that before?</p><p>“Adrien,” she says, carefully. “Are you alright? Is your father—”</p><p>“I’m fine!” he says. “Sorry, that was a bad joke. I’m sure he would notice. After all, he did on Christmas Eve.” His lips twist into something like a scowl, foreign on his usually sunny face. “Or maybe he was just worried about bad press. But—well, at least he was worried!”</p><p>“That’s not the same—”</p><p>“Thanks for the pastry, Marinette,” Adrien says, grimacing. “And sorry for almost breaking your cart. I’ll see you around?”</p><p>Marinette may be clumsy and forgetful at times, but she’s not stupid—and she knows that Adrien just changed the subject to avoid her questions about his father.</p><p>Her stomach twists uncomfortably. All this time, how many of Adrien’s struggles has Marinette never noticed? She was always too distracted trying not to trip over her words, but ever since her recent resolution to see him—really <em> see </em>him, fears and flaws and all—she’s already begun to notice things that Adrien is trying to hide.</p><p>“I’ll see you around,” Marinette responds, smiling. “And I absolutely want you to model for me, but we could find other reasons to hang out, too. Maybe you can tell your father that we’re studying while we secretly play video games instead?”</p><p>“Ooh,” Adrien says, the darkness clearing from his expression. “A little deception, huh? I could get behind that. I’ll see if I can convince Nathalie to let me have a study date sometime.” He frowns. “She made an exception for Lila of all people, even though I didn’t want her anywhere near me…so I’m sure Nathalie would let one of my actual friends come over to study.”</p><p>Silently, Marinette notes that what Chat told her on Friday is true: Adrien doesn’t like Lila Rossi, after all.</p><p>“Great!” Marinette says. “And, uh, if you ever want to text me about anything, you have my number. You know, for homework, or…stuff.”</p><p><em> Stuff </em> meaning <em> your father seems like a really terrible person and I never noticed it before but actually your home life sounds miserable and lonely, are you okay? </em></p><p>“Sure,” Adrien says. “Thanks, Marinette. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pops the rest of his pastry into his mouth. “Oh, and also,” he says, chewing and swallowing, “keep an eye out for those cats. I’m willing to bet there are one or two around here.”</p><p>He winks, as if they’ve just shared an inside joke—and then he waves and strolls out the door with the same bounce in his step as always.</p><p>(Is it <em> always, </em>though? Or just when people are watching?)</p><p>“Tikki,” Marinette says, watching Adrien’s blond head disappear inside his car. “Is there some sort of obscure joke about cats and bakeries that I don’t know?”</p><p>Tikki giggles. “If there is, I haven’t heard it!” she says. “Although…you technically <em> do </em>have a cat who visits the bakery sometimes.”</p><p>“Right,” Marinette says. “But Adrien wouldn’t know about Chat Noir.” She sighs, brushing a few crumbs off the counter and onto her hand. Apparently Adrien Agreste is a messy eater—another thing he and Chat have in common. “What is it with blond boys who say cryptic things whenever they leave?”</p><p>“You just have a type,” Tikki teases.</p><p>Marinette groans as she dumps the crumbs into a trash can.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>That night, Marinette stands on her balcony and contemplates how to return Chat’s suit jacket to him.</p><p>She could deliver it to him as Ladybug, but she doesn’t want to accidentally give him clues about her secret identity. (She also doesn’t feel very good about toting a thousand-euro jacket across the roofs of Paris.) Then again, as Marinette, she has no way to get in touch with Chat.</p><p>Marinette sighs. Why did Chat have to be so forgetful? Or did he intentionally leave his jacket with her, just to make her think of him?</p><p>She has a feeling it was an accident. Maybe before last Friday, Marinette would have thought that Chat was being smooth—but now she knows he’s sweet and awkward, nothing like the Chat-sanova she once imagined. No, it was probably a mistake.</p><p>Because really, if Chat is anything like Marinette, his head was probably a little fuzzy by the end of the night. After a slow dance, a heartfelt conversation, and giving Chat a rose and a kiss on the cheek, Marinette had been so dizzy that she was worried she’d topple off her balcony.</p><p>She’s spent all of five minutes musing in solitude—or, solitude with a kwami snoozing in one of her planters—when a familiar figure lands on the neighboring roof.</p><p>“Salut, princesse!” Chat Noir calls. “Mind some company? Or am I interrupting your brooding?”</p><p>“I’m not <em> brooding,” </em>Marinette says. “Actually, I was thinking of how to get your jacket back to you, since you carelessly left it here on Friday.”</p><p>Laughing, Chat propels himself onto Marinette’s balcony and lands on the railing in a crouch. “It looked good on you.”</p><p>“Consider yourself lucky I didn’t accidentally spill something on it,” Marinette says. She tries to ignore how her stomach flutters at the sight of Chat’s gleaming hair and glowing eyes—eyes that she’s seen without the sclerae, bright and earnest. “And as I told you Friday night, that’s the first and last time I’m wearing your clothes.”</p><p>“Challenge accepted,” Chat says with a cheeky grin. He shifts his weight so that his legs are dangling over the balcony, his hands resting on the railing to either side of himself. “So, mind getting it for me? Or I could follow you inside, but I think it’s a little late to be alone with a boy in your room.”</p><p>For purposes of self-preservation, Marinette does not allow her mind to conjure up images of <em> alone with Chat in her room. </em></p><p>“I don’t know,” Marinette says. “You abandoned it here. I’m pretty sure that means it’s mine now.”</p><p>“Well, it’s just one of hundreds, so I can’t say I’ll miss it,” Chat says. “But can I at least empty the pockets? I have one or two important things in there, you know.”</p><p>Vaguely, Marinette recalls that Chat had kept some sort of trinket in the suit’s inside pocket. “Well,” Marinette says, drawing out the word, “I suppose I can go empty the pockets for you, despite your negligence. I’ll be right ba—”</p><p>“Wait!” Chat says. “Uh, actually, can I just have the entire jacket? Please?”</p><p>The shift in demeanor makes Marinette feel like she’s run into a glass door that was invisible until now. She’d thought that she and Chat were in familiar territory, laughing and teasing—but now he’s staring at her with wide eyes, abruptly ending the joke.</p><p>“Of course!” Marinette says, waving her hands. “I’m sorry, Chat. I know you didn’t want me to look inside the pocket. I’ll go get the jacket now.”</p><p>“It’s personal,” Chat adds.</p><p>Marinette plants her hands on her hips. “Chat,” she says. “I said I wouldn’t peek. Don’t you trust me?”</p><p>Immediately, Chat’s expression softens. “You know I do, Marinette.”</p><p>All at once, the sweet things he’d said to her a few nights ago—how much he admires her, how much he <em> cares </em>for her—come rushing back, and Marinette freezes.</p><p>How could she be so foolish, to think their dynamic would be the same as it was before? It’s not possible. Not after she saw his vulnerabilities. Not after he told her he loves her.</p><p>Chat <em> loves </em>her. As a friend, of course, but that still destroys any chance they have of being casual with each other. Now, he’s no longer a larger-than-life jokester; he’s her partner, her best friend, someone who cares about her and needs her.</p><p>Sometimes he’s lonely. Sometimes he doesn’t know how to stand up for himself. He has a strict home life, and he’s overwhelmed because everyone expects him to be perfect. He’s rich, he plays piano, and he dances with the daughters of his father’s colleagues whenever he’s asked.</p><p>Knowing just those few things has drastically deepened the bond they have. And as unexpected as it is, that’s just the way things are now. Marinette can’t backtrack to a time when she and Chat were strangers to each other.</p><p><em> This is dangerous, </em> her ever-waning conscience tells her. <em> You shouldn’t get close to him as a civilian. </em></p><p><em> This is Chat, </em> her impulsive brain replies. <em> He’s worth the danger. </em></p><p>“Marinette?” Chat says. “Is everything okay?”</p><p>“Absolutely!” Marinette says. “I was just…trying to remember where I put the jacket. It’s in my closet. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Marinette scurries over to the trapdoor and drops down onto her bed, then slams the door shut behind her. Cringing at the loud sound, she climbs down the stairs and pauses at the bottom, heart thudding.</p><p>A moment later, Tikki phases through a nearby window to hover in front of her.</p><p>“Tikki,” Marinette whispers. “I can’t do this.”</p><p>“If you really want to keep the jacket, I’m sure he’ll let you!” Tikki says.</p><p>“That’s not what I meant!”</p><p>Tikki lets out a tiny sigh. “I know.”</p><p>“I…we…” Marinette tugs out one of her hair ties and nervously combs her fingers through her hair. “That date was a mistake. Now I—and he’s—it’s too…”</p><p>“It’s okay to be friends with Chat as a civilian,” Tikki says. That surprises Marinette, because she would have thought that Tikki would discourage anything that puts her identity in jeopardy. “For anyone else, it would be dangerous, but you’re Ladybug! And Chat needs more people he can count on.”</p><p>“But that’s the <em> thing,” </em>Marinette says, leaning back against the steps. “I’m not ‘more people.’ I’m the same person he already relies on! I can’t trick him like this.”</p><p>“He has a civilian identity, too,” Tikki says. “I’m sure he would understand.”</p><p><em> Hush, voice of reason! </em>Marinette wants to say. Instead, she takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales. “Okay. Right. This isn’t so bad.”</p><p>She and Chat can be friends. Friends who once kissed during an akuma battle (even if Chat doesn’t know that), who seem bound together by fate and the universe (creation and destruction, yin and yang), and who confessed their love for each other three nights ago (totally platonically). That’s fine. She can make this work.</p><p>Internally screaming, Marinette trudges over to her closet and fishes Chat’s jacket from where it’s stashed in the back. Even now, she’s impressed by the material and craftsmanship; she knows Chat wasn’t lying when he said it was worth at least a thousand euros.</p><p>Unbidden, Marinette’s mind wanders to thoughts of her own designs. Someday, will someone be hanging clothes that she made in <em> their </em>closet? In ten years, will another young designer admire Marinette’s handiwork as they daydream about the future?</p><p>She can’t believe she might have the opportunity to enter an actual fashion competition, with judges, and models, and runways. This is bigger than the hat she designed for the school contest—this is a turning point.</p><p>As Marinette drapes the jacket over her arm, her fingers burn with curiosity, itching to delve into that inside pocket to see what Chat is hiding inside it. She gave him her word, though. Besides, incorrigible curiosity is Chat’s thing, not hers.</p><p>Jacket retrieved, she hastily climbs back up the bed and through the trapdoor. Chat is no longer perched on the railing where she left him; instead, he’s standing off to the side, scuffing one of his boots against the ground.</p><p>“I’m back,” Marinette announces.</p><p>“Are you mad?” he asks. His ears are drooping slightly. “I’m sorry for leaving the jacket here. It was honestly an accident.”</p><p>“No, no!” Marinette says. “I was clumsy and shut the door too loudly.” She pushes herself to her feet and joins Chat by the railing, then holds out his jacket. “Here’s the jacket. And don’t worry, I didn’t look inside.”</p><p>“I can tell,” Chat says. The corner of his mouth lifts, though he still looks a little nervous. “Thank you, Marinette.”</p><p>“Of course,” Marinette says. “Um, and…what do you mean, you can tell?”</p><p>Chat laughs quietly. “If you’d seen what was in the pocket, you wouldn’t be so calm.” He shakes his head and accepts the jacket from her, draping it over his arm instead. “That, or you’re an excellent actress. But…I don’t think you peeked.”</p><p>“Now I’m curious,” Marinette says. “Is it something illegal?”</p><p>“No, no,” Chat says. “Just something I keep on me for a little luck. Nothing bad, I assure you.”</p><p>Marinette feels her nose wrinkle. “Lucky. Like…a real rabbit’s foot, or something?”</p><p>“Or something,” Chat says, mouth twitching. “I don’t think one of our team members would appreciate it if I had a bona fide rabbit’s foot in my pocket.” He snorts. “Nice hairstyle, by the way.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Marinette says. “It’s the same as…”</p><p>As she reaches up to feel her pigtails, she realizes that she never redid the one she anxiously tugged out a few minutes ago. The hair tie is looped around her wrist, bright red against her skin.</p><p>Chat reaches forward and runs his fingers through the loose strands of hair, his claws lightly stroking Marinette’s neck. His barely-there touch sends a shiver straight from her head to her toes.</p><p>Marinette takes a shaky breath, heart pounding in her chest. She’s suddenly tempted to close the distance between them, snake her arms around Chat’s neck, and…and…</p><p>Her face burns. No, she can’t be having those sorts of thoughts about Chat. Just because she went on a date with him—as <em> friends </em>—that doesn’t mean she has to develop feelings for him.</p><p>“I can fix it,” Chat says, “if you want.”</p><p>“Sure,” Marinette mumbles, not positive what she’s just agreed to.</p><p>Carefully keeping his jacket draped over his arm, Chat steps forward and grabs Marinette’s hand. His claws tickle her wrist as he slips the hair tie off, and then he gently gathers up her loose hair. Marinette’s face burns as he wraps the hair tie around once, twice, and a third time, securing the hair in a pigtail.</p><p>His fingers brush Marinette’s cheek as he pulls his hand away. Head tilted to the side, he takes a step back and regards her. “Hm,” he says. “Well, it’s not as good as your other one…but at least it’s out of your face.”</p><p>Blushing, Marinette reaches up to feel the pigtail. “R-right. Um. Thank you.”</p><p>“So.” Chat rubs the back of his neck, eyes fixed on Marinette’s rose planter. “I’ll…see you around?”</p><p><em> “Sooner than I think?” </em> Marinette asks, folding her arms. “Like last time?”</p><p>Chat chuckles. “Uh. Well. Here I am. Sooner than you thought.”</p><p>“I—you—I was staring at every blond guy who walked into the bakery today!” Marinette exclaims. She hadn’t minded earlier, but now that she knows Chat really <em> was </em> talking about retrieving his jacket, she’s a little incensed. “I even told one of them a <em> cat pun </em>just to see if it was you!”</p><p>“Ooh, what was it?” Chat says. “Tell me, please? I love cat puns.”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Marinette says, crossing her arms. “You don’t deserve it.”</p><p>“What if I told you I <em> did </em>come by the bakery today?”</p><p>“What?” Marinette says. She feels like all the breath just left her lungs. “No, that’s—that’s not—you did?”</p><p>The world starts to close in around her. Chat was one of the boys who visited the bakery today? That’s such a narrow list—she could easily figure out his identity from that, and—</p><p>“No, no!” Chat says. Marinette dimly registers that one of his hands is wrapped around her arm, squeezing lightly. “Marinette, I was kidding. I wouldn’t risk my identity like that.”</p><p>Marinette closes her eyes, hoping the world will stop spinning around her. “Chat, don’t scare me like that. I thought you’d compromised your identity.”</p><p>To her surprise, Chat’s arms wrap around her in a hug, and Marinette realizes that she must look more shaken than she thought. “I’m sorry, Marinette,” Chat says. “I—that was a mean joke. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His claws trace shapes on the back of her neck, soothing her racing heart. “But, did you <em> really </em>think I was there? I’m sure none of those guys were anything like me.”</p><p>“Not really,” Marinette says. She hesitantly pulls away from the hug, and immediately misses the warmth of Chat’s arms. “They were all the wrong age, or the wrong look—and the boy I told the cat pun to? He just said <em> nice.” </em>She hides her face in her hands. “Nice. I was so embarrassed. I don’t know what I was thinking.”</p><p>“That’s what you get for trying to expose me,” Chat says. “Rest assured, if I had been there, I would have told you how ingenious your pun was. And of course, I would have joined in on the punning.”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Marinette says. “Adrien had that covered, once he showed up. I don’t think I could have handled <em> two </em> of you telling bakery puns.” She groans. <em> “Pâtissouris, </em> Chat. I should have made him leave, but instead I gave him a free pastry because he’s so stupidly cute, and he was wearing his basketball uniform, so the amount of skin was ungodly, and how could I possibly focus on the conversation when his thighs were—”</p><p>“Uh, I’m going to stop you there,” Chat says, holding his hands up. “Sorry, it’s just…it doesn’t feel right to…um…” He grimaces. “Is that really the sort of thing you want to be telling me?”</p><p>“I’m sorry!” Marinette says. “I’m used to saying things like that to Alya, and since you know about my crush on Adrien, I just started blabbering. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Ah, well,” Chat says. “There’s nothing wrong with…um, admiring Adrien Agreste’s thighs, but—well—I’m…” He sighs, and although Marinette sorely wants to change the subject, she doesn’t want to interrupt when something’s clearly bothering Chat. “I just feel a little awkward hearing things like that.”</p><p>“Of course!” Marinette says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Chat. I’ll keep things like that to myself in the future.”</p><p>Chat nods, and when a smirk slips onto his face, Marinette knows that all is forgiven. “Now,” he says, “if you want to talk about how hot <em> my </em>thighs are, then by all means—”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says. “No, I—I’ve never—they’re not…”</p><p>Chat raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“I mean, yes,” Marinette says, face hot, “you have very nice thighs, which is hard not to notice, with…” She gestures to his skintight suit. “All of that. But it’s not like I make a habit of staring at them.”</p><p>“Mm. I’ll pretend to believe that.” Chat takes a step back, fingers raised in a salute. “I should get going now, but it was good seeing you, princesse. Have a good night.” He winks, eyes gleaming in the dim light. “And sweet dreams. Maybe me and my thighs will see you in them.”</p><p>“Never,” Marinette says flatly. “That is never going to happen.”</p><p>“So, jamais?” Chat says. “Or…jambe-ais?”</p><p>“Shoo!” Marinette says, waving her hands. “Cat and pun-free zone. Leave before I get my spray bottle.”</p><p>Chat’s eyes widen comically, and Marinette holds back a laugh. She could swear that a few of the hairs on his head are standing up. “Y-you don’t really have one of those, do you?”</p><p>“Do you want to find out?”</p><p>Laughing, Chat takes a few steps backward, until his back is pressed against the railing of Marinette’s balcony. “No! No, I’ll take your word for it. I’d rather not take a shower with you.” Marinette gapes, and Chat gasps and presses a clawed hand to his mouth. “I—I mean—I’d rather you didn’t give me a bath. That’s what I meant to say. Because cats don’t like baths.”</p><p>“Right,” Marinette says, squinting, “but how did you get from that to <em> taking a—” </em></p><p>“I don’t know,” Chat groans. “I’m tired. You’re pretty. Apparently, my brain stops functioning when those two things are combined.”</p><p>Marinette crosses her arms, even as a fresh blush overtakes her cheeks. “Flattery will get you nowhere, you know.” She rolls her eyes. “But it’s a shame you won’t let me hose you down. You’re probably dirty from running all over the city.”</p><p>“Well,” Chat says. “There is <em> one </em>type of bath this cat wouldn’t mind taking.”</p><p>“A flea bath?” Marinette deadpans.</p><p>“Un bain de minuit,” Chat says, winking. “If you’re ever interested in one of <em> those, </em>princesse, I know a few places in the Seine where no one would see u—”</p><p>“No! No more!” Marinette says, her voice squeaking.</p><p>But it’s too late—fantasies of a midnight swim with Chat Noir are already swirling through her mind. His chest wearing nothing but moonlight, his arms pebbled with water droplets, his hands wrapping around her waist, and his lips…</p><p>“We wouldn’t get caught,” Chat says. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”</p><p>“That’s—that’s not—that’s it!” Marinette says. “I’m getting my spray bottle.”</p><p>She turns and marches to the trapdoor, hands curled in fists. Behind her, Chat yelps.</p><p>“I, uh—I’ll be going now,” he says. “Bonne nuit, Marinette. I will…see you when I see you.”</p><p>When Marinette turns around a second later, Chat is gone.</p><p>“Marinette,” Tikki says, floating up from behind the deck chair. “You don’t really have a spray bottle, do you?”</p><p>“No,” Marinette says, as another image of Chat’s wet, naked chest flashes through her mind. “But after this, I’m definitely getting one.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Quick note: I'm hoping to update this fic once a week! I have the entire thing written--I just need to edit each chapter before I post it. Also, this fic might end up being a little longer than 20 chapters, depending on how I break them up. </p><p><b>Pun explanations:</b><br/>ronronner - to purr<br/>tarte tatin - an apple pastry; thon - tuna<br/>pâtisserie - pastry shop; souris - mouse<br/>jambe - leg; jamais - never<br/>bain - bath, bain de minuit - midnight swim (skinny dipping)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome back, y'all! Slightly shorter chapter this week, because the last scene ended up being so long that it needed to be its own chapter. But on the bright side...early update!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The contest deadline is ten days after Adrien tells Marinette, which gives her a little over a week to get her portfolio ready. Of course, she’s always prepared for this sort of thing; ever since she started seriously designing a few years ago, she’s always kept a folder of her best and most recent designs. Even if Adrien hadn’t warned her ahead of time, Marinette still would have put together her application in time.</p><p>For Marinette, the hard part is the agonizing, the doubt, the insecurity. What if her best designs aren’t good enough? What if Adrien convinced his father to expand the competition, only for Gabriel to decide that Marinette’s work is inadequate? Then she’ll have let both Adrien and herself down.</p><p>Despite her anxieties, though, Marinette isn’t a quitter. She submits her application a whole three days before the deadline—in-person, directly into the hands of a very intimidating Nathalie Sancœur—and then she waits.</p><p>And waits.</p><p>Two weeks pass, and Marinette tries to use that time to plan designs for the contest—except she’s plagued by two problems.</p><p>One: despite Adrien’s reassurances, she doesn’t know that she’ll get in. It’s entirely possible that some prodigy collégien will apply at the last minute, nabbing the spot that could have been Marinette’s. Or maybe there are more talented lycéens than Adrien realizes, and Marinette never had a chance to begin with. Just because Adrien seemed confident about her chances, that’s not a guarantee.</p><p>Of course, if Marinette designs something and then finds out that she didn’t get in, she can still make the design. A rejection from Gabriel Agreste <em>probably </em>won’t make her crumple up the design and throw it away. Still, that tiny fear of rejection keeps stopping her pencil in its tracks, whispering, <em>Maybe there’s no point.</em></p><p>And the second problem: Adrien has promised to be her model if she gets in. That means that every piece of clothing Marinette sketches, every vaguely nude figure she draws, she can’t help but think of him. How a tight pair of trousers would hug his legs, how a sleeveless sweater would show off the muscles of his arms—and so, half of her drawings are abandoned halfway through as a hot blush overtakes her cheeks.</p><p>By Day Eighteen of waiting to hear back from Gabriel, Marinette has started to lose hope. Textbook hugged to her chest, she trudges up the stairs toward her first class, absorbed by gloom. Mostly, she keeps replaying the nightmare she had the night before, where she got a letter from Gabriel written in crayon that said <em>YOUR DESIGNS SUCK AND IF YOU DATE MY SON I’LL TAKE YOUR MIRACULOUS.</em></p><p>A hand lands on Marinette’s shoulder, and she jumps, dropping her textbook. Flailing, she steps backwards, and her stomach drops as she realizes that she’s about to fall down the stairs—but then a strong pair of arms wraps around her, hugging her to someone’s chest.</p><p>“I’m sorry!” Adrien’s voice says in her ear, high and panicked. “Marinette, I’m so sorry. I said your name a few times, so I thought you heard me.”</p><p>Marinette closes her eyes, savoring how Adrien’s arms feel wrapped around her. She wonders how long she can get away with standing like this.</p><p>Surprisingly, he doesn’t let go. After a moment, though, he does say, “Marinette? You didn’t faint, did you?”</p><p>“N-no!” Marinette says. She grabs his arms and untangles them from herself, then turns toward her textbook.</p><p>“Oh, I’ll get that,” Adrien says, crouching down to retrieve the book. “I really am sorry.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Marinette says, as Adrien stands and hands the book to her. “I was lost in thought. I didn’t sleep well last night.”</p><p>Adrien smiles, his eyes bright and kind. Marinette hates how his face makes her pulse go wild; it kind of feels like her heart is falling down the stairs, going <em>ka-dunk ka-dunk ka-dunk </em>as it bangs off each step.</p><p>“Is it the competition?” Adrien asks. “I know the results are taking a while. Nathalie said they should be sent out sometime this week.”</p><p>Marinette sighs. “I don’t suppose you can break into your father’s office and sneak a peek?”</p><p>“I tried that, actually. But I almost got caught and had to retreat.” Adrien laughs. “Apologies. It’s hard to be sneaky with our security system.”</p><p>For some bizarre reason, Marinette imagines Adrien clothed in all-black, prowling around outside his father’s office. “I imagine!”</p><p>Adrien reaches out and grips Marinette’s shoulders, his touch warm. “Marinette, you don’t need to worry. I’m sure you’ll get in.”</p><p>“That’s not what I need to hear,” Marinette grumbles. “I don’t need to know what <em>you </em>think. I need to know what your <em>father </em>thinks.” Before Adrien can respond, she adds, “And don’t say I’m safe because he opened up the competition for me! You don’t know that for sure. Plus, maybe some other amazingly talented collégien applied and—”</p><p>“I really think you’ll—”</p><p>“No,” Marinette says, cutting him off. She loves Adrien, but she wishes he would stop offering empty reassurances. It’s almost like he’s afraid to be honest with her. “I appreciate it, Adrien, but you don’t know I’ll get in. I’m trying to plan for the possibility that I don’t, and I can’t do that if you keep assuring me that everything is going to be fine.”</p><p>“Oh.” Adrien withdraws his hands, awkwardly twisting the ring on his finger. His eyes slip away from Marinette’s. “I’m sorry. I was trying to make you feel better. I didn’t realize I was making it worse.”</p><p>“What?” Marinette says. “I never said that. Where did you get that idea?”</p><p>Adrien looks at her again, his eyes wide and confused. “I—never mind. Um, what should I say instead? Just…tell me, and I’ll say that.”</p><p>Stunned, Marinette can only stare as Adrien cringes away from her like a crab retreating into its shell.</p><p>Has he always been so quick to interpret everything as rejection? Marinette always saw Adrien as someone smooth and confident, albeit a bit of a goofball at times. But the boy who looks like he’s been accused of murder, just because Marinette told him to stop making empty promises—he’s someone else entirely.</p><p>From the depths of Marinette’s memory, a forgotten moment comes back to her: Adrien rushing up the stairs toward her on Heroes’ Day, excitedly telling her that his father gave him permission to go to her food tasting event. When Marinette paused for only a second, unsure how to admit that she lied, Adrien jerked back, wounded, and assumed that there wasn’t a place for him at the event.</p><p>Why had she discarded that memory until now? Probably because it didn’t fit with her image of Adrien. Perfect, confident Adrien, who always says the right thing, who’s never anxious or insecure.</p><p>“Adrien,” Marinette says, gently. He winces. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”</p><p>“Clearly I did,” Adrien mutters. “Or else you wouldn’t be mad at me.”</p><p>“I’m not mad,” Marinette says. “It’s just…” Hesitantly, she tucks her bulky textbook under her arm and reaches out, brushing her fingers along Adrien’s arm. “You don’t have to promise me that I got in. It’s not your fault if I don’t, and it won’t be the end of the world, either.” She snorts. “I might question your father’s taste, but it won’t kill me.”</p><p>A small smile tugs at Adrien’s lips, and Marinette mentally cheers. “I will, too,” Adrien says. “In fact, I won’t just question his taste. I’ll question his sanity. He’d be crazy not to want you, Marinette. Anyone would be. You’re amazing.”</p><p><em>KA-DUNK KA-DUNK KA-DUNK </em>goes Marinette’s clumsy heart, toppling the rest of the way down the stairs. “Oh. Um…” She blushes. “Thank you. I…I’m glad you like my designs so much.”</p><p>Smiling even wider, Adrien leans forward slightly. “I wasn’t just talking about your designs. I meant you, Marinette. <em>You’re</em> amazing.”</p><p>Just like that, Marinette’s body turns to jelly, and the textbook falls from under her arm and lands on her toes.</p><p>She curses and hops on the step, her foot throbbing with pain. Yelping, Adrien kicks the textbook out of the way and pulls Marinette toward him.</p><p>The textbook thuds down the stairs, chasing Marinette’s metaphorical heart.</p><p>“Oops,” Adrien says, with a chuckle. “Sorry about the book. I was afraid you’d trip on it when you were hopping.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Marinette squeaks, clinging to his shirt. “I—um—thank you. I…got a little flustered, I guess.”</p><p>Adrien’s arms are wrapped around her, his hands pressed to her waist, and Marinette can feel his body heat against her chest. It’s almost enough to make her dizzy.</p><p>“Sure,” Adrien says. He smiles down at her. “I’m just glad you didn’t fall down the stairs. I'd feel awful if you got hurt because of a compliment.” He hums to himself. “Actually, that would be kind of ironic. Compliments aren’t supposed to hurt.”</p><p>“Y-you get a little intense sometimes, you know,” Marinette mumbles. “I’m a little weak-kneed at the moment.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Adrien asks. Unlike before, he doesn’t seem apologetic about catching Marinette off-guard—in fact, Marinette’s pretty sure he’s holding back a smirk. “Do I need to carry you to class, amazing Marinette?”</p><p>“Stop,” Marinette groans, letting her head fall against his chest. He really is nice and warm. Kind of like Chat Noir—except she shouldn’t be thinking about him right now. “I’m already embarrassed. Don’t make it worse.”</p><p>Adrien laughs, his body shaking against hers. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I promise, I’ll never call you <em>amazing</em> again. That said, I can probably come up with a couple dozen synonyms…”</p><p>A laugh bursts out of Marinette. “You’re horrible.”</p><p>Vaguely, Marinette wonders if Adrien has figured out that her crush on him is what turns her legs to jelly. But the night of the dance, hadn’t Nino said that Adrien is dense about these things? If Adrien actually knew that Marinette had a crush on him, he’d never be this casual about it.</p><p>Besides, Adrien is still pretty new to socializing with people his age. He probably thinks that this is the sort of thing friends say to each other. And maybe it is; there’s nothing inherently romantic in calling someone amazing.</p><p>“Okay.” Adrien runs his hand up and down Marinette’s back, and she closes her eyes, the tension slowly draining out of her. “So…if you don’t mind getting rejected, what are you worried about?”</p><p>“Art block,” Marinette says, her forehead still pressed to his chest. “I’m trying to brainstorm designs, but then I keep thinking—what’s the point, if I don’t get in?”</p><p>“Marinette,” Adrien says, “of course you’re…I mean…”</p><p>She glares up at him. “What did I say?”</p><p>“Right. That’s not what you need to hear.” Adrien smiles. “Okay, how about this: even if you don’t get in, I still want to wear your designs. Regardless of what my father thinks, <em>I </em>love your work, and I’ll happily model it for you any time.” He winks. “That’s a lifetime guarantee, by the way. Consider me your personal model until the end of time.”</p><p>That wink triggers a reflex, and Marinette responds, “Who says I want that?”</p><p>Raising his eyebrows, Adrien drops the hug. “Harsh. Are you trying to hurt my ego?”</p><p>“Do you really need your ego to be stroked, when thousands of people are constantly telling you how pretty you are?”</p><p>“Well.” Adrien rubs the back of his neck, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “That’s true, but…it would mean more coming from you.”</p><p>Marinette’s mind drifts back to the dance from a few weeks ago, when she’d accidentally told Chat that he was one of the sexiest guys in Paris. She assumed that he’d be used to hearing that, but then he responded with, <em>It’s the first time I’ve heard it from someone who matters. </em></p><p>It kind of sounds like Adrien’s saying the same thing.</p><p>“Hm,” Marinette says. “Well, having the most handsome model in Paris as my permanent model <em>could </em>give me an edge.”</p><p>Adrien blinks rapidly. “Uh. Right.”</p><p>“But it could backfire,” Marinette continues. “What if they only notice you, instead of my designs?”</p><p>“Well, then, I guess I would have to take them off.”</p><p>Marinette’s coherence flees her. “You—but—wait, then you’d be—”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant!” Adrien says, waving his hands.</p><p>“You—you—what’s the point of being my model if you’re just <em>naked all the time?”</em></p><p>Adrien’s face is bright red, his eyes wide, and it’s clear he wants to backtrack; and yet, he seems unable to stop himself from saying, “Inspiration?”</p><p>Marinette’s face burns so hot that she feels like she’s come down with a fever. “That’s it.” She folds her arms. “You can stand here and flirt all you want, but <em>I </em>am going to class—”</p><p>“No, wait!” Adrien says. “I wasn’t flirting! I wouldn’t get naked around you—I mean, unless you wanted—”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says, covering her ears. “No, no, no. This conversation is done.”</p><p>“Marinette,” Adrien whines.</p><p>“I’m going to class,” Marinette says firmly, hands still planted on her ears. Adrien stares at her with big puppy dog eyes, making it hard to keep a straight face. “And since my hands are otherwise occupied, <em>you </em>can go grab the textbook you kicked down the stairs.”</p><p>Adrien says something, gesturing wildly. He keeps talking, and talking, and Marinette’s not even sure he’s saying anything coherent. She catches a few words here and there—one of them, to her frustration, is <em>naked</em>—and finally, she uncovers her ears.</p><p>“What,” Marinette says, interrupting him mid-sentence.</p><p>Adrien freezes, mouth slightly open, eyes adorably wide. “I—I said I’ll never take my clothes off again, if that’s what you want?”</p><p>Marinette slaps a palm to her forehead. “I’m leaving.”</p><p>“No, Marinette! Wait! Is that not what you want?”</p><p>“Leaving,” Marinette repeats.</p><p>As Adrien scrambles to retrieve her textbook, Marinette marches up the stairs with her face still burning.</p><p>“It figures,” she mutters to herself. “I finally manage to talk to him in complete sentences, and it turns out he’s a flirt. A flirt! I swear, he’s almost as bad as Chat Noir.”</p><p>Tikki giggles quietly from her purse.</p><p>“This isn’t fair,” Marinette continues. “I thought this would be easy! I thought that now that we’re talking, he’d just ask to borrow a pencil or something, but no! Instead he offers to be <em>naked for me.”</em></p><p>Naked. Adrien. Those two words are not allowed to go together; their combined power would destroy the world.</p><p>With a groan, Marinette drags her blushing body toward the classroom, resolving not to think too much about <em>that </em>particular image.</p><p>(And if her mind wanders back to thoughts about skinny-dipping with Chat—well, technically that’s still a mission accomplished.)</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As the sun sets, Marinette takes advantage of the last hour of daylight to do some sketching en plein air.</p><p>Sighing, she taps the end of her pencil against the paper. So far, her efforts have produced a few outfits, but none of them are daring or exciting. Everything is boring, tame—because really, how can Marinette imagine Adrien wearing something bold or sexy? She would give herself a nosebleed.</p><p>“What’s wrong, Marinette?” Tikki asks. She’s sprawled on the balcony table, surrounded by a ring of macaron crumbs.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Marinette doodles her signature flower design on one of the shirts, then scowls at it. “I keep thinking about Adrien, I guess.”</p><p>“That’s perfectly normal!”</p><p>“No, like…about Adrien…” Marinette waves her hand, too embarrassed to say the words. “You know. What he said earlier. Like <em>that.” </em></p><p>“That’s still normal,” Tikki says. “I’ve had plenty of teenage holders, and—”</p><p>“Great!” Marinette says. “That’s enough. Good to know.”</p><p>She stares at her page of bland designs for another few minutes, until the sun has disappeared below the horizon and the sky is dim. When it’s finally too dark for Marinette to see the paper in front of her, she begrudgingly closes her sketchbook and stows her pencil behind her ear.</p><p>Groaning, she opens the trapdoor and drops down onto her bed.</p><p>“I’d say you made progress,” Tikki says.</p><p>“Not <em>good </em>progress,” Marinette mutters.</p><p>“Any progress is good!” Tikki says. “Now you know what doesn’t work, which will help you improve next time.”</p><p>“I guess so.” Marinette smothers a yawn and arches her back in a stretch. “I should probably do some homework before bed. You never know when there might be an aku—”</p><p>Something knocks on the skylight right above her head, and she yelps.</p><p>“Marinette?” a familiar voice calls.</p><p>“Chat!” Marinette says, glancing up to meet his eyes. “Um, come in!”</p><p>Tikki zips away and dives into a hoodie draped over Marinette’s desk chair. A moment later, Chat eases open Marinette’s door and peers down from above. His green eyes glow with the light of her room, bright against the deep blue sky behind him.</p><p>“Hi,” he says. “Is now a bad time?”</p><p>“No, no!” Marinette says. “I said you could come in.”</p><p>Chat blinks. “Right. But…I can’t exactly drop down when you’re sitting right below the trapdoor.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Unless you want me to sit on your lap.”</p><p>Biting back a screech, Marinette shuffles down her mattress to make room for Chat. Once the space is clear, Chat clambers down from above, maneuvering himself so that his boots don’t touch her sheets. He ends up sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, close enough that Marinette can feel the mattress dip as he adjusts his position.</p><p>“Hi,” he says again.</p><p>“You already said hello,” Marinette says, bumping his shoulder. “What brings you here?”</p><p>It’s the first time in a while that she’s seen him. Over a week ago, after Gabriel announced that collégiens could enter the competition, Chat had dropped by to ask if Marinette was entering—which would have shocked Marinette at one point, but not since he told her that his family is rich and takes fashion seriously.</p><p>Since then, though, she hasn’t seen him as either Marinette or Ladybug.</p><p>“Well,” Chat says, “Aside from enjoying your company…word on the street is that the applicants for Gabriel’s competition still haven’t heard back from him. I figured I’d stop by in case you wanted to vent.” He winks. “I know you don’t want to tell Adrien what a jerk his father is, but I’m all ears.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t say <em>that,” </em>Marinette says. “But, um…why stop by today?”</p><p>“I saw you on your balcony a minute ago, and you looked frustrated,” Chat says. “Experiencing some art block?”</p><p>“Sort of,” Marinette says. “Part of the problem is that it feels useless to plan for a competition that I might not get into…”</p><p>She pauses, waiting for Chat to say something like Adrien did earlier; he’s always been the sort of person to wholeheartedly encourage her and Ladybug, even if it makes him blind to negative outcomes.</p><p>Strangely, though, he just nods and waits for her to continue.</p><p>Marinette frowns slightly. She’s still not quite used to this side of Chat: introspective, sensitive, quietly listening.</p><p>“Anyway,” Marinette says, glancing away. “Adrien pointed out that I could still use the designs, and I know he’s right. It wouldn’t be a waste of time—in fact, he offered to model them even if I don’t get in! Which is, uh…the remaining problem.”</p><p>“Oh,” Chat says. He’s quiet for another moment. “So you don’t want him to model?”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says, looking at Chat again. A frown tugs at his lips, and he’s staring at his lap. “The opposite! He’s great. But every time I try to imagine Adrien wearing a design I really like…”</p><p>She trails off, hoping that Chat will figure out the rest on his own. She’d rather not spell it out.</p><p>Still frowning, Chat says, “You don’t think he can pull off the designs, then?”</p><p>Marinette groans; she should have figured Chat would be dense about this. “No, he definitely can. That’s the problem.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Chat says, ears flattened slightly. “I guess I’m not quite following. You want him to model for you, and you think he can pull off the designs…so what’s the problem?”</p><p>How should Marinette say this? Chat got uncomfortable the time she started talking about Adrien’s thighs, and she doesn’t want a repeat of that.</p><p>“It’s something that might make you uncomfortable,” Marinette starts.</p><p>“That’s fine.” Chat’s tail taps the mattress between them, almost as if it’s urging her to continue. “I prefer honesty.”</p><p>Marinette buries her face in her hands and sighs. “I’ve gotten better at talking to him, but when it comes to stuff where we’re physically close, I get flustered. And now—”</p><p>“Wait,” Chat says. “Is this about your crush on Adrien? Are you sure you want to tell me this?”</p><p>Marinette peeks between her fingers. “Are you planning to tell anyone?”</p><p>“Well, no, but—”</p><p>“Right,” Marinette says. “So, if Adrien models clothes for me, we’re going to be physically close. I’ll have to take his measurements, and check how the clothing fits—but who knows if I’ll even get that far?” She flops back on the mattress and throws an arm over her eyes. “And I can’t think of a design! I just keep thinking about stupid, sweet, irresistible Adrien. How am I supposed to sketch something fashionable and sexy when I have to imagine it on my crush?”</p><p>She peers over her arm at Chat. He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her, a hand cupping his chin as if he’s thinking. His tail flicks back and forth, slightly agitated.</p><p>“Chat?” Marinette says. “I’m sorry, did I make things weird? I shouldn’t have said anything!”</p><p>“No, no.” Chat clears his throat. “Um…you could imagine them on someone else, maybe? That might help you get through the designing process, at least.”</p><p>“Like who?” Marinette asks. “I’m designing them with his features in mind. I have to take that into account.”</p><p>“Well. Uh. You could imagine them on me?”</p><p>Marinette sighs, staring up at the ceiling. “Chat, you also have the body of a Greek god. That’s not going to help.”</p><p>Chat makes a strange squeaking noise. “I—um, I have what?”</p><p>“Oh, come on.” Marinette sits up, arms crossed, and glares at Chat. “Fishing for compliments? Or have you already forgotten that I told you you’re one of the sexiest guys in Paris?”</p><p>“I haven’t forgotten,” Chat says, avoiding her eyes. “But you were embarrassed by that, so I’ve been trying not to revisit it.”</p><p>His cheeks are flushed pink, and Marinette briefly contemplates leaning forward and kissing them—but that’s just a momentary lapse in judgment.</p><p>“Well,” she says instead, “at the risk of embarrassing myself again, you know I think you’re attractive. So, no, imagining you in my designs is <em>not</em> going to help with my art block.”</p><p>“Right. Because…I…have the body of a Greek god.” Chat squints at Marinette. “Do you really think I’m that attractive?”</p><p>Marinette’s cheeks burn. “I’m not saying it again.”</p><p>A sly smile overtakes Chat’s face, even though the blush has yet to fade from his cheeks. “Well,” he says, leaning toward her, “you know, this <em>godly body </em>is currently sitting in your bed, princesse.”</p><p>“Bad cat!” Marinette says, jabbing a finger against his chest. That only encourages him, though, making his smile grow wider. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation—”</p><p>“About how sexy I am.”</p><p>“About my <em>art block</em>,” Marinette says, while Chat cackles, “and you have the audacity to make suggestive comments?”</p><p>“I’m just stating facts!” Chat says. “You think I’m sexy, and I’m sitting in your bed. Nothing suggestive about that.”</p><p>Rolling her eyes, Marinette shoves Chat. With a yelp, he starts to pitch forward—but then he throws himself back onto the bed, rolling onto his side and wrapping his arms around Marinette’s waist.</p><p>“Nice try,” he says. “But you’re not throwing this cat off the bed.”</p><p>Marinette heaves an exaggerated sigh. “I guess not.”</p><p>Her skin is hot where Chat is touching her. It could just be his body heat, or a surge of loneliness, but Marinette feels the sudden urge to pull him closer, maybe even let him climb onto her lap like he jokingly suggested—just to sit there, of course. Marinette would never think about doing anything untoward.</p><p>Chat shifts, legs curling toward himself, and nuzzles his face against Marinette’s side. Her fingers twitch, and she fights the urge to pet his fluffy hair.</p><p>“I can’t believe this,” she mutters.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Come here,” Marinette grumbles. She pulls his head onto her legs, then starts running her fingers through his hair. “Sexy guy? I don’t think so. You’re just a giant housecat.”</p><p>Chat hums. “That feels nice.”</p><p>“That’s because you’re a cat,” Marinette says.</p><p>It’s mostly a reminder for herself: he’s a cat, and not an attractive guy she has feelings for. Because if he <em>is </em>an attractive guy she has feelings for, and he’s lying in her lap while she pets him, then—then—well, she refuses to even consider that.</p><p>“Marinette,” Chat murmurs, and Marinette prays that he’s not about to start flirting again. “Adrien’s a professional, you know. He’s used to being touched and measured. So…as long as you don’t treat it like a big deal, I’m sure he won’t mind. You’re a designer, not some random fangirl trying to grope him.”</p><p>He has a point, and yet, Marinette’s not <em>just </em>a designer. She’s also someone who has feelings for Adrien. Would he still be comfortable modeling for her, if he knew that?</p><p>“Don’t you think Adrien would mind, if he knew I was crushing on him?” Marinette asks, fingers scratching behind Chat’s cat ears. She bites back a laugh as he presses his head up against her palm. “Would he still want me touching him?”</p><p>“I don’t think he’d care,” Chat says. “And, you know…maybe he’s crushing on you, too.” Marinette’s fingers stroke Chat’s neck, and he twitches. “Uh, t-ticklish.”</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marinette says, smirking. “But, say he did like me—which is unlikely—then…if I have to touch him, isn’t that weird?”</p><p>Chat stiffens slightly. “Th-that—I mean—Marinette! How much do you plan on touching him?”</p><p>“As little as possible!” Marinette says.</p><p>“Oh?” Chat says. “So you’re not planning to pet him while he lies on your lap?”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says, snatching her hand back like she’s been burned.</p><p>“Something tells me he’ll be fine as long as you keep things professional.” Chat snorts. “Or even if you don’t. By the way, why did you stop petting me?”</p><p>Grumbling, Marinette goes back to scratching Chat’s scalp. “There’s nothing to worry about, anyway. Adrien doesn’t like me that way. He’s got some mystery girl he likes…and maybe someone else, too. I doubt my touch would have any effect on him.”</p><p>“R-right,” Chat says, as Marinette moves her hand to massage the back of his neck. “Um, unless he also likes you, and has just realized that, in which case, um—”</p><p>“Chat?” Marinette asks. He’s strangely tense in her lap. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, you know!” Chat says. “Don’t be surprised if he blushes, is all. You’re quite alluring. Maybe I should call you <em>sirène </em>instead of <em>princesse.</em>”</p><p>“Don’t you have a bug to woo?” Marinette asks, amused.</p><p>“It’s complicated.”</p><p>Stunned, Marinette stares down at the blond head on her lap.</p><p>Did Ladybug do something to hurt him without realizing it? Did she somehow break his heart? Ever since Marinette found out that Chat has feelings for Ladybug, she’s tried to consider his feelings, but—well, maybe her teasing came across as insensitive.</p><p>Or what if he’s starting to move on? In theory, that’s the ideal situation…and yet, Marinette is kind of bothered if that’s the case. What could have happened to make him give up on Ladybug?</p><p>“I still like her,” Chat says, answering one of Marinette’s questions. “But now it’s more confusing, is all.”</p><p>“We don’t have to talk about it,” Marinette says.</p><p>Chat grunts, which seems like agreement.</p><p>Marinette waits a moment, and when Chat doesn’t attempt to move, she reaches over and grabs her sketchbook. “Hey, Chat. Mind giving me a drawing surface?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Marinette taps her sketchbook against his head. “I need to prop this on your back so I can draw.”</p><p>“Oh.” Chat’s jaw stretches in a yawn, and he shimmies forward so that his stomach is on Marinette’s legs. Arms folded on the mattress, he lets his chin fall on top of them. “How’s that? Although, don’t be surprised if I fall asleep. This is pretty comfortable.”</p><p>Against her wishes, Marinette’s eyes immediately go to Chat’s rear. “It’s sculpted—um! I mean…disculpe!”</p><p>“Disculpe?” Chat echoes in confusion. “Did you just say<em> sorry </em>in Spanish?”</p><p>Well, now, that could work: <em>sorry for staring at your ass, Chat Noir.</em></p><p>“That’s right!” Marinette squeaks. “Um, sorry for ogling—I mean, for…bumping you with my sketchbook!”</p><p>“Really? I didn’t feel anything.”</p><p>“I did!” Marinette says. “It was really light! So really, I don’t know why I’m apologizing. Because I definitely didn’t do anything that I need to apologize for. I mean, if I had been checking you out, I’d apologize! But I wasn’t, so…”</p><p>“Wait,” Chat drawls. “Were you—”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“Were you <em>staring at my ass?” </em></p><p>Marinette lightly whacks his head with her sketchbook. “Absolutely not!”</p><p>Chat snickers. “You know, I have been told it’s pretty nice.” A laugh bursts out of him. “Oh, I heard right the first time. You totally said <em>sculpted.”</em></p><p>“I’m going to draw now,” Marinette announces, slapping the sketchbook onto his back.</p><p>“Are you going to draw my butt?”</p><p>“No!” Marinette shrieks.</p><p>“Aw, but Marinette,” Chat says, and he has the audacity to wiggle his butt, his tail waving back and forth along with it. “My butt is a work of art. It deserves to be memorialized on paper. Really, as a designer, you have a duty to study my ass and capture every—”</p><p>Marinette pushes Chat and his sculpted ass off the bed before he can finish that thought.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Feel free to come say hi on <a href="https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> 😄</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Shorter chapter this time! Adding this scene to the previous/following chapters made them too long, so I'm posting it on its own. Hope y'all enjoy!</p><p><b>Minor warning:</b> There is a <i>very</i> brief reference to physical abuse here, when Adrien assures Marinette that his father isn't beating him. That's the only time this sort of thing is mentioned in the fic; the rest is just the usual neglect we've seen from Gabriel on the show.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marinette spends two more days agonizing over the Gabriel competition—and fortunately, she’s distracted by visits from Chat Noir both of those evenings.</p><p>His appearances on her balcony have suddenly become more frequent, but Marinette isn’t complaining. She appreciates the company, since having another (non-kwami) body in the room makes it harder to get absorbed in anxious thoughts. And even if she <em>was</em> inspired to design, she wouldn’t turn him away. Not after she promised Chat that he could visit her balcony any time he needs to blow off some steam.</p><p>Part of her wants to pry into Chat’s civilian life—specifically his relationship with his father, which he’d mentioned the night of the dance. Marinette worries that his suddenly frequent visits are a result of strife in his homelife, and she’d like to help, if he’ll let her.</p><p>Lately, though, Chat isn’t as forthcoming about his personal life. It’s like a barrier between them dropped for just one night, one dance—and then it sprang back up, reverting Chat to an enigma.</p><p>So much for making progress.</p><p>Of course, it’s a horrible idea to learn more about Chat’s civilian life. He has a secret identity to protect, and Marinette should keep her distance.</p><p>And yet…she likes being close to him.</p><p>But it doesn’t matter. Chat is no longer in the mood for sharing; instead, he hides behind winks and suggestive jokes, and pretends that he never opened up to Marinette the night of the dance.</p><p>On Thursday morning, Marinette slams her locker shut and lets her forehead rest against the cold metal. It’s been three weeks since the deadline, and she still hasn’t heard back about the competition. A wait this long can only mean that Marinette ended up in the rejection pile. After all, Gabriel has a reputation for being efficient and decisive; he must have sent out the acceptance letters by now.</p><p>Does Gabriel even send rejection letters, though? Maybe he just lets his cold silence speak for itself.</p><p>“Hey,” a quiet voice says.</p><p>Marinette lifts her head from the locker and turns to face the speaker. Unsurprisingly, it’s Adrien—like Chat, he’s been more and more present in her life lately.</p><p>“Hi,” Marinette says.</p><p>“I didn’t startle you?” Adrien asks. He’s holding one hand behind his back, though Marinette doesn’t know why.</p><p>“For once, no.” Marinette yawns. “I guess I’m too tired to have a reaction.”</p><p>“Oh, so…” Adrien pulls his hand out from behind his back and waves an envelope in front of Marinette. “Too tired to react to your letter from Gabriel?”</p><p>Marinette feels like she’s just chugged four shots of espresso. “No! Wait, really?” Adrien smiles and nods, and she scrutinizes him, searching for signs of pity or disappointment. “So it’s…” She tentatively reaches forward, and Adrien hands her the envelope. “This is mine? But why do you have it?”</p><p>Adrien shrugs innocently. “I may have asked my father to let me hand-deliver it.”</p><p>“Does he think I need a shoulder to cry on?” Marinette asks, gripping the envelope with both hands. She half-expects it to burst into flames before she has a chance to open it.</p><p>“Of course not,” Adrien says. “It’s—I mean, we all know that you’re stronger than that. Not that it’s…uh, do you just want me to tell you what’s inside?”</p><p>“You know?” Marinette asks, now feeling as if she’s had <em>five </em>shots of espresso. “He told you?”</p><p>Adrien raises his eyebrows. “I’m privy to <em>some </em>insider knowledge, you know. But, yeah, I know what it says. I’ll gladly tell you, if—”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says. “No, I want to read it.”</p><p>Except she’s frozen, unable to open the envelope in her hands. After all, as long as she doesn’t open it, she won’t know what it says; for a few seconds, at least, she can delay what might be crushing disappointment.</p><p>“Marinette,” Adrien says softly. “Do you want me to read it to you?”</p><p>That might be better. The rejection will sting less if it’s read in Adrien’s sweet voice.</p><p>Nodding, Marinette hands the envelope back to Adrien and watches as he opens the envelope and pulls out the paper inside. Then she squeezes her eyes shut, afraid that she’ll be able to see the big red REJECTION through the back of the paper.</p><p>A true orator, Adrien clears his throat. “Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng—”</p><p>“That’s bad, right?” Marinette says. “That sounds too formal. Or, wait. I guess it <em>would </em>be formal. Does that mean it’s good news? Actually, can you say that again with the tone you think he—”</p><p>“Marinette,” Adrien says, laughing. That seems like a good sign. “Let me read?”</p><p>“Sorry. Yes.” Marinette clamps her mouth shut and cringes, waiting for Adrien to continue.</p><p>He clears his throat again. “To the clever, creative, beautiful, talented Marinette Dupain-Cheng…”</p><p>Marinette opens her eyes to glare at Adrien. “That’s not what it says.”</p><p>“But you said you wanted me to convey his tone.”</p><p>“And you think he would call a teenage girl <em>beautiful?”</em></p><p>Adrien presses his lips together, his face bright red. “I, um…well. Maybe that one was me.” He clears his throat a third time. “Anyway. Dear Marinette—”</p><p>Marinette snorts. “Am I pen pals with Gabriel Agreste, now?”</p><p>“Marinette,” Adrien whines, “can you <em>please </em>let me finish reading your acceptance letter?”</p><p>A gasp escapes Marinette’s lips. She feels like she’s flying and falling and gulping down espresso at the same time. “Did you just say—”</p><p>Adrien yelps, cheeks still pink. “No! I, um—no, I didn’t say that. Uh, where was I? <em>Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, we are pleased to—” </em></p><p>“Give me that,” Marinette says, snatching the letter from Adrien’s hands. Her hungry eyes scan the page, eating up every word. <em>“We are pleased to tell you…accepted…one of the strongest applications…” </em>She looks up at Adrien, who’s given up on trying to hide his grin. “It’s an acceptance letter!”</p><p>Laughing, Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I kind of spoiled that, didn’t I?”</p><p>“I got in,” Marinette says, because she still can’t quite believe it. “I’m in the contest. I’m in the contest?”</p><p>“You’re in the contest.”</p><p>Squealing, Marinette throws herself at Adrien, who grunts and catches her in a hug. “He liked my portfolio,” she says. “Gabriel Agreste liked my portfolio!”</p><p>“Loved it, actually,” Adrien says. “The letter doesn’t say this, but his exact words were <em>better than most of my interns, and impressively brave in showing off her personality.”</em></p><p>“Impressively brave in showing off my personality,” Marinette repeats. Arms still thrown around Adrien’s neck, she leans back to look at him. “Is that good?”</p><p>“It’s great,” Adrien says. “My father is used to people submitting designs with his tastes in mind. He thought it was refreshing that your designs showed <em>your </em>personality, not his.”</p><p>“He likes my personality?”</p><p>“How could he not?” Adrien asks, smiling. “I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you this, but you’re one of the most incredible people I know.”</p><p>Marinette’s cheeks heat. “Right. Th-thank you.”</p><p>As the adrenaline fades from her mind, she realizes that she’s essentially caressing Adrien while his hands grip her waist. Squeaking, Marinette drops her arms and steps back—and slowly, as if he’s confused, Adrien lets go of her as well.  </p><p>“Anyway,” Adrien says, “they’re mailing out the letters this afternoon, but I knew that the wait was driving you crazy, so…it’s only a little bit earlier, but—”</p><p>“Thank you,” Marinette says. “Thank you, thank you, <em>thank you.” </em>Adrien smiles bashfully, and she surges forward and kisses him on the cheek. “You’re the incredible one.”</p><p>Looking a little dazed, Adrien reaches up and touches his cheek. “Oh, I—I didn’t do much. But, um, I’m glad you’re happy.”</p><p>“Oh!” Marinette says, pulling out her phone. “Hold on, I have to call my parents. Or, well, you can go, I guess, but…”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Adrien says. “I’ll stay. I’m enjoying this.”</p><p>Marinette pauses, finger hovering over her mother’s number. “Enjoying what?”</p><p>Adrien shrugs. “You being excited, I guess. It’s cute.”</p><p>“C-cute?” Marinette says. She can feel a bit of her brain melting, like André’s ice cream on a hot summer day. “Me?”</p><p>“Um, I mean—that is…” Adrien’s face flushes darker. “You wanted to call your parents, right?”</p><p>“Right,” Marinette says, tapping her mother’s number. Avoiding Adrien’s eyes, she hugs her free arm around herself and waits for Sabine to pick up.</p><p>Sabine answers on the second ring. “Marinette? What is it? Did you leave your books at home again?”</p><p>“No, no!” Marinette says. At least, she doesn’t <em>think </em>she forgot her books today. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. Is papa there? Can you put me on speakerphone?”</p><p>In her peripheral vision, she notices Adrien grinning at her. Blushing, Marinette waves a hand at him, as if to shoo him away.</p><p>Pouting, Adrien mouths her name, then makes a little pleading gesture with his hands. Marinette smiles and rolls her eyes.</p><p>“We’re both here,” Sabine says. “What did you want to tell us?”</p><p>At the question, Marinette’s excitement bubbles to the surface all over again. “I got in!” she says, her voice echoing in the locker room. “Adrien just gave me my acceptance letter. Monsieur Agreste liked my portfolio, and I’m in the contest!”</p><p>“He <em>loved</em> your portfolio,” Adrien corrects.</p><p>“He loved my portfolio,” Marinette repeats.</p><p>“Oh, Marinette,” Sabine says, “that’s wonderful.”</p><p>“Congratulations!” Tom’s voice booms through the speaker, so loudly that Marinette’s sure Adrien can hear him. “He’d be a fool not to recognize your talent.”</p><p>“Papa,” Marinette chides.</p><p>“I agree,” Adrien whispers. “He’d be crazy.”</p><p>“Do you know what designs you’re going to use?” Sabine asks.</p><p>With those few words, Marinette’s excitement comes crashing to a halt. “I’m…still working on that. But I have ideas! I’ll figure it out soon.”</p><p>“Whatever you make, I’m sure it will be amazing,” Sabine says. In the background, Tom seems to be monologuing about <em>my daughter, the famous fashion designer, </em>though he’s too far from the phone for Marinette to make out every word. “Anyway, we’d better get back to work. But congratulations, dear. We’re so happy for you.”</p><p>“The happiest!” Tom shouts.</p><p>Marinette laughs. “I have class soon, anyway. I’ll see you at lunchtime!”</p><p>They exchange <em>I love yous, </em>and Marinette ends the call. Then she turns back to Adrien, who’s been watching her with a strangely wistful smile on his face.</p><p>“Sorry for making you wait,” Marinette says. “I…hope you didn’t mind?”</p><p>“What? Oh, no,” Adrien says. “I was just thinking that I never have phone calls like that with my father. It’s nice to see how close your family is.”</p><p>Marinette frowns. She’s used to Chat evading the topic of his father, but she’s not about to let Adrien do the same. “Adrien.”</p><p>He flinches as if she’s slapped him.</p><p>Marinette’s stomach twists.</p><p>That’s not the response she expected, and she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Adrien’s shoulders are hunched, his eyes fixed on the bench beside them, and he says nothing—almost like he’s waiting for Marinette to chastise him.</p><p>“Adrien,” Marinette repeats, her voice softer. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Adrien quickly says. </p><p>“Are…are things at home okay?” Marinette asks. “If they aren’t, you can talk to me, Adrien. We’re friends.”</p><p>Adrien takes a deep breath, eyes darting around the locker room. It’s empty, just the two of them, and Marinette can’t remember if she heard the bell or not.</p><p>“Home is fine,” Adrien says, with a tight smile.</p><p>The lie makes Marinette feel like she’s lost some sort of game—because these days, she knows an Adrien Agreste lie when she sees one. He smiles and it doesn’t reach his eyes, and he hunches his shoulders like he’s afraid to be caught.</p><p>“Adrien,” Marinette says. “Is…is your father…”</p><p>“It’s fine!” Adrien repeats. “I’m not getting beaten or anything. Is that what you were worried about?” He grimaces. “I’m fine, really. He’s just really busy, and doesn’t have much time for me, but that’s nothing to get upset over.”</p><p>“I think it is,” Marinette says, choosing her words carefully. She’s never had a conversation like this with Adrien before. “Adrien, it’s okay to be upset if your father doesn’t make time for you. I’d be heartbroken if my parents were always working and didn’t spend time with me.”</p><p>“No, it’s not—it’s not that he doesn’t…” Adrien’s voice breaks, and he trails off, his lip quivering slightly.</p><p>“It’s okay.” Hesitantly, Marinette reaches down and takes Adrien’s hand. “You can be upset.”</p><p>“I don’t <em>want </em>to be upset,” Adrien says, his voice steady again. Smiling weakly, he squeezes Marinette’s hand and rests his other on her shoulder. “Let’s not ruin the moment, okay? You got into the contest! We should be celebrating.”</p><p>Marinette wants to say that her victory means nothing if Adrien is hurting—but she also doesn’t want to push it. She and Adrien are finally getting closer as friends, and she can’t ruin that by prying. </p><p>She wishes he would stop hiding his problems and let her help him, though. A puzzle she can’t see is a puzzle she can’t solve.</p><p>Marinette sighs. “Got it. Celebrating.” She gently lets go of his hand, and her eyes fall to the ground, trying to avoid the pain written in Adrien’s features.</p><p>“Did I make you upset?” Adrien leans down to meet Marinette’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned my—”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says. She forces herself to smile reassuringly. “That’s not it! I’m happy to listen to stuff like that. It’s just, um…designs. That’s what I’m worried about.”</p><p>“Still experiencing art block?” Adrien asks. He leans against Marinette’s locker, hands digging into his pockets. “Or do you have too many to choose from?”</p><p>“Both.” Marinette mirrors his stance, leaning against the locker next to him. “I’ve had dozens of ideas, but none of them seem exciting enough. I’m stumped.”</p><p>“Hm.” Adrien squints at the row of lockers opposite them. “On one hand, maybe you’re being too critical of your work. I get that way sometimes with modeling, piano playing, things like that.”</p><p>“Really?” Marinette says. “You’re that critical of yourself? But—you’re so talented!”</p><p>“I mean, it’s hard <em>not </em>to be critical, when my father always demands that I be the best at everything.” Adrien winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up again.”</p><p>“It’s fine!” Marinette says. She bites her tongue to stop what she really wants to say: <em>Just how bad is your father? </em>The more she hears about Gabriel Agreste, the less she respects his opinion.</p><p>“Anyway,” Adrien says, “one possibility is that your designs are all fantastic, and perfectionism is making you blind to that.”</p><p>“I felt pretty good about the designs in my portfolio, though,” Marinette says. “I just think these new ones are…lacking something.”</p><p>“Can I see them?”</p><p>“The—the designs?”</p><p>Marinette’s not sure why the question has caught her off-guard, but it has. What if her designs aren’t as good as Adrien is expecting? What if he hates them and lies to make her feel better?</p><p>“Yeah,” Adrien says. “I mean, you don’t have to. But maybe I could offer some reassurance?”</p><p>Marinette takes a deep breath, centering herself. Of course Adrien isn’t going to hate her designs—he thinks she’s amazing and talented. There’s nothing to worry about.</p><p>“Sure,” Marinette says.</p><p>She unzips her backpack and pulls out her sketchbook, then flips to the first page of contest designs. Heart thudding, she hands the book to Adrien.</p><p>“Oh,” Adrien breathes, his fingers hovering over the page. “Marinette, these are fantastic.” Smiling, he turns the page, and a crease appears on his forehead. “And…um.”</p><p>“Is something wrong?” Marinette asks. “Is one of them bad?”</p><p>“No, not at all!” Adrien says. “I really like this high-collared jacket, but—uh, the guy has cat ears?”</p><p>Cursing, Marinette snatches the sketchbook from Adrien and turns to a page of designs without cat ears. “Right,” she says, handing it back to him. “I—I got bored one night and started doodling, and…yeah. The design doesn’t come with cat ears.”</p><p>Adrien raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think I could pull them off?”</p><p>There is nothing inherently sexy about cat ears, and yet, the question has Marinette sweating. Adrien dressed like Chat Noir? That thought makes her stomach flip like a crêpe.</p><p>She supposes she’s seen that before, back when Clara Nightingale tried to recruit Adrien and Marinette for her music video. But that was different—then, Adrien stood awkwardly, hair perfectly styled, smile soft and sweet as always. He didn’t have any of that wildness that always seems to cling to Chat.</p><p>So why, now, does the thought of a blond boy in cat ears make Marinette’s pulse race?</p><p>“I—I mean, of course you could!” Marinette says. “You wore them when you played Chat Noir, didn’t you? In the music video we never filmed, I mean. I guess you also played him in that movie, come to think of it.” She laughs, though it sounds a bit too high-pitched to her ears. “You’re practically his stunt double, really!”</p><p>“Right,” Adrien says, drawing out the word. He seems to be fighting a grimace. “But, well—I—I’m not really much like Chat Noir, am I? I mean, I wouldn’t look that good in leather, for one thing.”</p><p>Marinette considers that. On one hand, Adrien has always struck Marinette as softer, gentler, like springtime and sunshine. Chat is rougher, more untamed—like summer and fire, maybe.</p><p>Those things are similar, though. And lately, Marinette <em>has </em>noticed a bit of Chat Noir in Adrien.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Marinette says. “Actually, you and Chat Noir seem kind of similar.”</p><p>Adrien squints at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“It means that you two have some things in common?” Marinette says. She squints back at Adrien, who’s fidgeting and glancing at the door. “What else would it mean?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing!” Adrien says, with a clearly forced laugh. “I just thought you were implying something, but, uh…there’s nothing to imply.” He looks down at the sketchbook in his hands. “Back to your designs—Marinette, these are all amazing. I’d happily model any of these, sans cat ears.”</p><p>“I appreciate that,” Marinette says, taking back the sketchbook. “But I don’t think any of these fit you perfectly, and none of them are daring enough. I need something that will impress the judges.”</p><p>“Well,” Adrien says. “I do have one idea…although I don’t know how good it is.”</p><p>“I’m all ears.”</p><p>“I think the judges would be impressed by a material that’s difficult to work with,” Adrien says. “Say, something that’s unconventional for men’s clothes…”</p><p>Marinette raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you have something in mind.”</p><p>Adrien nods. “Remember your dress for the dance?” he says. “Which, by the way—I’m still disappointed that I didn’t get to see it in person.”</p><p>“It was nothing special,” Marinette mumbles.</p><p>“Judging by the pictures I saw,” Adrien says, “I’d beg to differ.”</p><p>Blushing, Marinette glances down at her sketchbook. “I used chiffon for that,” she says. “But…”</p><p>She tries to imagine incorporating that into an outfit for Adrien, but it doesn’t seem quite right.</p><p>Adrien leans forward, and when Marinette looks up, there’s mischief sparkling in his eyes. “You also used lace,” he says.</p><p>“L-lace?”</p><p>“I’ve never modeled it before,” Adrien says, “and I know that it’s tricky to work with. What do you think?”</p><p>Marinette thinks she’s going to have a heart attack if Adrien shows off that much skin. But he has a point. Lace is both daring and difficult—exactly what she needs.</p><p>It fits Adrien, too. Gentle, playful, alluring. Why didn’t she think of it sooner?</p><p>Probably because that means imagining <em>Adrien Agreste in lace, </em>which is a potent image. Even now, Marinette’s brain refuses to conjure any detailed pictures.</p><p>Tentatively, she regards Adrien with a designer’s eyes. She tries to picture how lace might decorate his collarbones, or how she might combine it with another fabric to reshape his physique. A pastel hue might soften his look, while a darker color could border on sinful.</p><p>Patterns, shapes, textures—the ideas are spinning through her mind, now, too quickly to pin down.</p><p>“Yes,” Marinette says. “Yes! That’s exactly what I need. Lace! You’re a genius.”</p><p>Adrien smiles and ducks his head. “I don’t know about that. I got the idea from your design, after all.”</p><p>“I need to get these ideas on paper,” Marinette says, grabbing a pencil from behind her ear. “Before I forget.”</p><p>Tongue pinned between her teeth, she plops down on the locker room bench and starts sketching, her pencil flying across the paper.</p><p>A few seconds pass, and then Adrien laughs. “Marinette,” he says, “aren’t you forgetting something?”</p><p>“Hm?” Marinette’s pencil alternates between figures and words, leaving random notes to herself so that she remembers which details to fill in later. “What’s that?”</p><p>“Class?”</p><p>“Class…” Marinette freezes, then jumps to her feet, wide-eyed. “Oh, no. What time is it?”</p><p>“Um.” Adrien rubs the back of his neck, which Marinette has determined is code for <em>I may have made a mistake. </em>“Class started ten minutes ago.” </p><p>Marinette gasps and slams her sketchbook shut. “Why didn’t you say something?”</p><p>“I lost track of time.” Adrien smiles sheepishly. “I—talking to you, I tend to forget about other things.”</p><p>Groaning, Marinette stands. “At least I don’t sit in the front row. I can probably get some drawing done in class.” She grabs Adrien’s wrist and tugs him toward the door. “Come on, let’s go.”</p><p>Adrien makes a strange squeaking noise. “I—um, you…”</p><p>Marinette pauses and turns around. “What is it?”</p><p>“Are you…are you sure we should show up together?” Adrien says. “I mean, we’re ten minutes late, and if we show up at the same time, uh—people might think that, you know—”</p><p>“Ack!” Marinette releases Adrien’s wrist like it’s burning hot. “You’re right. I—I wasn’t even considering—but Alya and Nino would never let us hear the end of it if they thought that we…you know…”</p><p>Adrien winks. “I guess we’d better arrive separately, then.” Fingers brushing Marinette’s arm, he slips past her and holds the door open. “After you, pr—ah…” He covers his mouth with his hand and makes a garbled noise. “We should go out together! I mean, go out the door together.” He closes his eyes, face oddly red. “That’s what I meant.”</p><p>“Are you okay?” Marinette asks, lingering in the doorway. “Your face looks warm.”</p><p>“I’m great!” Adrien says. He motions toward the stairs. “You go first. I have fewer absences than you do.”</p><p>Marinette laughs. “I guess I <em>am </em>late pretty often.”</p><p>“I’ve noticed,” Adrien says, following Marinette to the base of the stairs. “I—I mean, not in a bad way. It’s just, I notice when you’re not around.” He grimaces. “Is that weird?”</p><p>“Not at all!” Marinette says. “I notice when you’re gone, too.”</p><p>But then, she has a crush on Adrien—so of course she notices when he’s not around.</p><p>Adrien smiles, and the warmth in his expression chases away Marinette’s anxieties from earlier in the conversation. “I’m glad. So, uh—I think now we’re twelve minutes late…”</p><p>Yelping, Marinette sprints up the stairs with her sketchbook clutched to her chest, leaving Adrien’s smiling face behind in the courtyard.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sky is darkening outside Marinette’s window, and she’s halfway through drawing a shirt with sheer sleeves when she stops abruptly. Groaning, she lets her forehead fall against the page.</p><p>“Marinette?” Tikki asks. “What’s wrong? That design looks great!”</p><p>“I can’t figure him out,” Marinette grumbles.</p><p>Days have passed since she got her acceptance letter, and she’s sketched shirts, vests, waistcoats, pants, skirts—but none of the ideas seem right. None of them seem to capture <em>Adrien Agreste.</em></p><p>Maybe she doesn’t know Adrien well enough yet. When she thinks about it, they haven’t spent that much one-on-one time together. Marinette’s conception of Adrien is still half-formed, shallow, and that’s clearly leaking into her designs.</p><p>She supposes she could ask him what Adrien likes, but that feels like cheating. Besides, Adrien already did her a favor by suggesting lace—Marinette probably shouldn’t get any more help from Gabriel Agreste’s son.</p><p>Marinette picks up her pencil again, and immediately, an akuma alert goes off on her phone.</p><p>“You’re kidding me,” Marinette mutters, tossing the pencil on her desk.</p><p>“You could use a break,” Tikki says.</p><p>Marinette resists the urge to roll her eyes. However difficult designing might be, she doesn’t think akuma battles count as <em>taking a break. </em></p><p>Sighing, she glances at the eraser crumbs scattered everywhere, along with the few crumpled-up papers on the floor. (She rarely crumples up drawings—but in this case, she’d absentmindedly doodled Chat Noir’s muscled torso a few times, and her hands moved instinctively to hide the evidence.) She honestly can’t remember the last time she used her free time for something besides drawing.</p><p>Maybe Tikki has a point.</p><p>“Alright,” Marinette says. She grabs her purse with macarons inside, then calls, “Tikki, transforme-moi!”</p><p>Suited up, Ladybug climbs onto her bed and clambers up to her balcony. According to the Ladyblog, the akuma had last been spotted near the Gare du Nord. Even though it’s probably moved on by now, Ladybug figures she can probably find Chat there.</p><p>She slings her yo-yo and leaps into the air, hoping that the night chill and akuma battle will clear her mind. And yet, unwanted thoughts keep intruding—like the one sketch she doodled, where Chat’s zipper was zipped down partway, creating a plunging neckline that showed off part of his chest—</p><p>“Stupid cat,” Ladybug mutters.</p><p>What’s gotten into her? She’s always been aware that Chat is good-looking, but she never used to <em>think </em>about that. It was just a fact, the same way that his eyes are green and his hair is blond.</p><p>Now, Ladybug can’t think about Chat’s features without her stomach fluttering and her face warming. As much as she hates to admit it, she’s attracted to him—truly, intensely attracted to him.</p><p>The confusing part: it’s not just his appearance. It’s other things that, until now, she only passively noticed. The way he always tries to comfort others, even if he’s having a bad day. The way he smiles and jokes whenever Ladybug is stressed, trying to lighten her mood. The way he hugs her and holds her close after particularly rough akuma battles, and the entire world around them fades away, and Ladybug only feels Chat: his soft voice, warm body, hands featherlight on her back.</p><p>She doesn’t want to think about what that means.</p><p>“Right on time, buguinette,” a voice says.</p><p>“Chat!” Ladybug says, tripping and tumbling to her knees on the roof. She hadn’t noticed him until he spoke.</p><p>“Careful!” Chat grabs her hand and pulls her to her feet, bringing her eye-level with the bell zipper gleaming at his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” </p><p>Ladybug fumbles for words, and her mind latches onto the crumpled-up drawings back in her room. “I—does your suit unzip?”</p><p>She looks up to find Chat frowning down at her. “Uh…why?”</p><p>“I—no, I—does the bell detach?” Ladybug asks. She laughs nervously. “Just in case I need to use your chest—I mean, your bell for a Lucky Charm solution!”</p><p>“Ah, that’s my lady,” Chat says. “Always thinking ahead.” Smirking, he leans forward, his eyes reflecting the city lights. “Or were you just imagining me shirtless?”</p><p>“Absolutely not!” Ladybug says. “The only thing I’m imagining is, um…us beating this akuma.”</p><p>“Positive visualization? Excellent idea.” Chat winks. “For the record, that works with imagining me shirtless, too.”</p><p>Ladybug rolls her eyes, hoping that the night hides her blush. “Are you ready to go?”</p><p>“Of course.” Frowning, Chat taps his chin. “Just to clarify, you’re asking me if I’m ready to beat the akuma, not if I’m ready to unzip—”</p><p>“Let’s go!” Ladybug says, drowning out the rest of his sentence.</p><p>To her relief, the battle goes smoothly. Her Lucky Charm, a pair of shears, is straightforward enough, although it’s a frustrating reminder of the art block that’s plagued her for so long. And Chat is surprisingly focused, swapping out awful puns for helpful suggestions—which worries Ladybug a bit, since Chat rarely misses an opportunity to joke.</p><p>Less than a half hour later, Ladybug has purified the butterfly, bumped Chat’s fist, and found the akuma victim a ride home. As she turns to leave the rooftop, though, Chat’s voice stops her.</p><p>“Ladybug,” he says. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“Are <em>you?” </em>Ladybug asks. “You didn’t make any jokes.”</p><p>“I’m good,” Chat says. “So…?”</p><p>“I’m fine!” Ladybug says. Her earrings beep in her ears, reminding her that she only has one or two minutes left. “But I’m tired, so I should probably go home and get some sleep.”</p><p>“Um, before you go…” Chat tosses his baton from one hand to another, his eyes flicking around the rooftop they’re standing on. One of his fangs digs into his lip, and Ladybug can feel the hesitance rolling off him. “I…”</p><p><em>Please don’t let this be another love confession, </em>she thinks.</p><p>The last time Chat confessed to Ladybug, her answer was easy. She’d hardly ever thought about him that way, and her heart belonged entirely to Adrien. Now, though…Ladybug isn’t sure what her honest answer would be, if Chat confessed to her.</p><p>“The joke about me being shirtless,” Chat says. “That was just a joke. I know you have feelings for another guy, so—I wanted to be clear that I didn’t mean anything by that.”</p><p>Surprisingly, Ladybug is disappointed by those words. And that’s odd. Wasn’t she just praying that he <em>wouldn’t </em>confess to her? She got what she wanted, didn’t she?</p><p>“Ladybug?” Chat says. His cat ears are flattened against his head. “Are you upset?”</p><p>“No!” Ladybug says. “No, uh, thank you for…that. I figured you were joking, but now I know that I shouldn’t get my hopes up!”</p><p>Chat tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean, get your—”</p><p>“Typo!” Ladybug says, waving her hands. “That was a typo. Um, I mean, I misspoke.” She facepalms, and her Miraculous beeps in her ears like it’s laughing at her. “What I meant was…yes, I still have feelings for another boy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make jokes like that. I like you shirtless! Wait, no—I like your shirtless jokes. Um, all of your jokes! Not just the shirtless ones. But it’s fine if you want to be shirtless—er, make jokes about being shirtless.”</p><p>Chat blinks. “Um.”</p><p>Groaning, Ladybug covers her eyes and sinks into a crouch on the roof. “Just leave me to die of embarrassment, please.”</p><p>“I’m not going to do that.” Chat rests a hand on Ladybug’s shoulder. “Listen—we’re both about to detransform, but maybe we could feed our kwamis and stick around to talk? It seems like something’s bothering you.”</p><p>“What gave me away?” Ladybug grumbles. “The fact that I can’t form a coherent sentence?”</p><p>Chat laughs. “That might be part of it.”</p><p>“I must sound so stupid.”  </p><p>“No, you don’t,” Chat says, patting her shoulder. “Ladybug, everyone has their moments of ineloquence. In fact, there was this one time I met one of my favorite voice actors in-person, and—” He breaks off as their Miraculouses beep shrilly. “Um, I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”</p><p>With a salute, he leaps into the alley below. A moment later, a flash of green light flares in the dark, signaling his detransformation.</p><p>Ladybug’s stomach squirms at the thought. Down there, Chat is detransformed—and for the first time in a while, she’s tempted to look.</p><p>Her Miraculous emits a final string of beeps, and then Ladybug’s transformation drops, leaving Marinette on the rooftop in her pajamas.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Tikki asks.</p><p>“I’m so embarrassed,” Marinette mutters. She pulls a macaron from her purse and hands it to Tikki. “Lately, I can’t help but notice that he’s…and I keep thinking of him like…you know.”</p><p>“He’s an attractive young man,” Tikki says. “Like I said before, it’s normal to—”</p><p>“No!” Marinette screeches. “I—I meant—”</p><p>“Ladybug?” Chat calls from the alleyway. “Is everything okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine!” Marinette says. “One minute.” Lowering her voice, she says, “Tikki, I didn’t just mean that he’s handsome—which of course he is. I meant other things. Like his personality. I keep thinking about <em>that, </em>but I can’t…and he…never mind.”</p><p>Sighing, Marinette buries her face in her hands. If she really listens, she can hear the hiss of whispered conversation in the alley below, although she can’t make out any words.</p><p>Chat must be talking to his kwami about something. If Marinette’s past experience with Plagg is any indication, the two of them are probably bickering about cheese.</p><p>“You know,” Tikki says, “you’re allowed to have romantic feelings for Chat Noir! It’s not that strange. He has a lot of the qualities you like in a person.”</p><p>Marinette doesn’t want to concede that. Once upon a time, she would have insisted that of <em>course </em>Chat wasn’t her type. Now, though, she knows that’s not true.</p><p>“He just reminds me of Adrien,” Marinette grumbles, lowering her hands from her face. “That’s the issue. If I didn’t have a stupid crush on Adrien, then I wouldn’t have this stupid crush on Chat.”</p><p>“It doesn’t have to be a stupid crush,” Tikki says, which makes panic chill Marinette’s veins. “You <em>did </em>say you love him, and it’s not unusual for the bond between Ladybugs and Chat Noirs to be—”</p><p>“No,” Marinette says, though she’s not sure what she’s saying <em>no </em>to. “I can’t worry about this right now. Chat and I have to talk.”</p><p>Without waiting for Tikki to respond, Marinette calls out her transformation, scattering a pink glow across the rooftop.</p><p>Arms hugged to herself, Ladybug calls, “Chat? I’m transformed now.”</p><p>“One moment, my lady,” he says.</p><p>Ladybug closes her eyes and tries to banish Tikki’s words from her mind. That last part about the bond between her and Chat Noir…she’s <em>felt </em>that before. And she suspects that her love for Chat, whether it’s platonic or romantic, is always going to be deeper than what she feels for other people.</p><p>That’s complicated enough if they’re friends, but if Ladybug developed <em>romantic </em>feelings for Chat—well, then, how could her feelings for Adrien ever compete with that? Is she just destined to end up with Chat Noir, all because of a bond created by the Miraculouses?</p><p>Or maybe they only got the Miraculouses because that bond was already there—but no, that’s silly. Maître Fu couldn’t have sensed something like that.</p><p>She’s pulled from her thoughts when Chat vaults onto the roof.</p><p>“So,” he says, twirling his baton. “What’s bothering you?”</p><p>Wincing, Ladybug realizes that even after talking to Tikki, she still doesn’t know what to say. “Um, I’m just stressed. There’s not really much to talk about! I have a lot on my plate, that’s all.”</p><p>“Anything I can help with?”</p><p>Chat’s soft voice makes Ladybug feel like pulling her hair out. Why, <em>why </em>must he be so sweet and caring? It would be so easy for her to develop feelings for him. Why can’t he be rude and emotionally unavailable instead?</p><p>“I don’t think so,” Ladybug says. She can’t tell him about the design competition, after all, or he might put two and two together. “I’ve got this project I need to work on, and I’m stumped.”</p><p>“Have you tried taking a break?” Chat asks. “Burnout is a thing.”</p><p>“No,” Ladybug says. “I just started it, actually. But I’m sure I’ll figure it out if I give it a few more days.”</p><p>“I’m sure, too,” Chat says. “Is this an art project, by any chance? If so, I’m told my body can be quite inspiring.”</p><p>Ladybug snorts. “I don’t think this project needs any leather.”</p><p>“What about good-looking blond boys?” Chat asks, waggling his eyebrows.</p><p>“I already have one of those,” Ladybug says, rolling her eyes. “But…”</p><p>Maybe Chat’s roguish energy is what she needs for the design. After all, if <em>he </em>wore lace, it wouldn’t be reserved or refined. He has a way of making formalwear seem casual: messy hair, buttons undone, collar slightly crooked. If Marinette could just capture that side of Adrien, she’d have the perfect design.  </p><p>“You do?” Chat says. “And here I thought blonds just weren’t your type. Is it really my personality that’s stopping you, my lady?”</p><p>Ladybug squints at Chat. How would he wear lace? The delicate material would have to highlight his musculature, somehow; a fabric typically used for things like doilies and bridal gowns would have to become dangerous.</p><p>“Uh, Ladybug?” Chat asks. “You’re sort of…staring at me. Did I say something wrong?”</p><p>“No, not at all,” Ladybug says. “Um, it’s just…you…”</p><p>Her hands curl into fists. She <em>knows </em>that Chat is insecure, and worries about what others think of him—he’s told Marinette as much. So, Ladybug should tell him what’s on her mind. She shouldn’t leave him to anxiously speculate.</p><p>Chat tilts his head to the side. “I…?”</p><p>“L-lately, it seems like…” <em>Like you don’t want to flirt with me. </em>“Like you’re being too cautious. You don’t have to be on guard around me, you know! I’d never judge you for anything.”</p><p>“Well, I—I’ve realized that I tend to flirt with you a lot.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t say <em>a lot,” </em>Ladybug says.</p><p>Why is Chat saying that like it’s a bad thing? Even though Ladybug has feelings for Adrien, she’s always found Chat’s flirting pretty endearing.</p><p>“I’m just rethinking things,” Chat says. “Because we hardly ever talk like <em>this. </em>You know, sincerely, without jokes. And I think that’s my fault.”</p><p>Ladybug tentatively touches his arm. ““Chat, you haven’t done anything wrong.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Chat says, eyes darting to the streets below. “But we’re partners, and I want us to be able to talk about serious things—not just jokes or battle strategies.” He presses his lips together, hesitating. “I guess I use humor to…I don’t know. Avoid being myself. I’m trying to be better, though.”</p><p>Ladybug gives Chat’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Like I said, I’m not going to judge you.”</p><p>Chat nods. “I know. That’s why I’m telling you this.” Taking a deep breath, he finally meets her eyes. His green eyes somehow seem brighter than usual, and Ladybug feels her heart skip a beat. “I care about you a lot, and I know I can always count on you. But…I don’t think I’ve been appreciating our friendship.” He rubs the back of his neck and glances away. “Or, well, I <em>have. </em>I just haven’t shown it very well.”</p><p>Ladybug’s cheeks heat. She’s always thought of herself and Chat as close friends—but he has a point. Most of their relationship has consisted of stolen moments after akuma attacks and occasional chats during patrol. They’ve never really talked about themselves or their lives…which makes sense, since they’re supposed to protect their secret identities.</p><p>And yet, that hasn’t stopped Chat from confiding in Marinette. He’s managed to tell her about his insecurities and his home life, all without revealing his identity.</p><p>Chat blames himself for stifling their friendship with jokes and flirting. Ladybug thinks that she’s just as much at fault, though, for unnecessarily holding him at arm’s length.</p><p><em>Friendship. </em>That word makes Ladybug’s stomach flutter. In the beginning, she’d tried to view their relationship in detached terms: they were partners, a team, co-saviors of Paris. Since then, she’s come to realize that Chat is one of the most important people in her life, but she’s been afraid to ask that burning question: <em>Are we friends? </em>Hearing Chat confirm it—that soothes her anxieties.</p><p>But strangely, a small part of her brain balks at the word <em>friendship. </em>Is that all they are? Is that all Chat wants? What happened to him being in love with her?</p><p><em>It’s complicated, </em>he’d told Marinette. <em>I still like her, but now it’s more confusing. </em></p><p>What is that supposed to mean? He’s in love with her. How is that complicated or confusing?</p><p>Ladybug shouldn’t care if Chat stops pursuing her romantically—except it makes her wonder what she did wrong, to make him give up on her.</p><p>“Ladybug?” Chat asks. He’s clutching his tail, nervously wringing it. “Um, was that too much? I’m sorry, I was…I just…”</p><p>He keeps talking, and Ladybug’s mind goes blank. All she can notice is the worried look in his eyes, the way he fidgets with his tail, how his posture is suddenly hunched forward. She needs to say something to reassure him—but words fail her.</p><p>Ladybug surges forward and pulls Chat into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. Chat’s words stutter to a stop, and a moment later, his arms lightly wind around Ladybug’s waist.</p><p>“What’s this for?” he murmurs.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Ladybug says, glad that he can’t see her blush. “I…wanted to hug you?”</p><p>Chat hums, settling his chin on her shoulder. “I’m not complaining.”</p><p>“And you didn’t say anything wrong,” Ladybug says. “I agree that we should talk more. That’s my fault, too. I never stick around to chat.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Chat says, laughing. “I know you’re a busy bug.”</p><p><em>Not too busy for you, </em>Ladybug wants to say. But then, how does she explain the distance she’s created between them? It’s better if she doesn’t open that can of worms.  </p><p>For a while, they stand wrapped in each other. Chat’s body heat chases away the night chill, and Ladybug feels like she’s melting against him. She could probably fall asleep right here in his arms—but really, she’s been so exhausted lately that she could probably fall asleep on a concrete block. That doesn’t mean anything.</p><p>“Ladybug,” Chat whispers, finally. “Are you awake? I’d carry you home, but I don’t know where you live.”</p><p>Ladybug blinks blearily. “I’m fine.” Her jaw stretches in a yawn. “So…no more <em>buguinette? </em>No more <em>my lady?” </em></p><p>Chat laughs. “Nonsense. You’re my lady no matter what.” He bends down to smile at her, and Ladybug wonders when he got so annoyingly tall. “I just want to focus on our friendship for now. I know you’re dying to have me flirt with you…” He pauses, and Ladybug rolls her eyes. “And don’t worry, I’m happy to oblige. But I want to try—well, letting my guard down. Being myself more.”</p><p>Ladybug stares into his eyes, heart beating fast. She’s not sure why she suddenly feels so unsteady. “A-and are the constant puns a part of the façade?”  </p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>Ladybug scoffs. “I figured.”</p><p>Maybe it’s not that odd that Chat wants to focus on their friendship when he still has feelings for her. Isn’t that what she’s doing with Adrien? Her feelings for him haven’t suddenly evaporated—she’s just getting to know him first.</p><p>“Sorry, my lady,” Chat says. “My humor is one of my best features, with or without the mask.”</p><p>Ladybug stares at him in the dark. The night of the masquerade dance, she’d seen him detransformed—his hands bare, his ears peeking through his hair, his eyes stripped of the cat sclerae. But she’s still never seen him without a mask.</p><p><em>Who are you, really? </em>she wants to ask. </p><p>Logically, she knows it’s a horrible idea. Ladybug shouldn’t know Chat’s identity, and the more she learns about him, the riskier it is.</p><p>Even so, she wants to get closer to the boy beneath the mask.</p><p>“Um,” Chat says, “you’re giving me a weird look again.”</p><p>Ladybug blinks rapidly. “Oh.” She’s not sure what her face was just doing, but she hopes it wasn’t as soft and mushy as her thoughts. “I was just…uh…”</p><p>“Come to think of it,” Chat says, “you’ve been checking me out a lot tonight.” Smirking, he flexes one of his unfairly muscled biceps. “Finally notice my excellent physique?”</p><p>“No!” Ladybug says, her protest too loud. “Actually, I was…wondering…” She casts around for an excuse that won’t reveal her interest in fashion. “Wondering how you’d…look…in clothes.”</p><p>Chat raises an eyebrow. “As opposed to <em>without clothes?”</em></p><p>“What!” Ladybug says. “I—I’m not imagining that right now! I would never—I mean—leather clothes! Specifically leather clothes.”</p><p>“Probably a lot like this?” Chat says, gesturing to his suit.</p><p>His suit. His sleek, ridiculously tight suit. Are those his nipples that Ladybug is seeing, or just seams in the fabric? They have to be seams—the material is too thick to be that revealing. Then again, does a magic suit even <em>have </em>seams? Ladybug’s never inspected Chat’s suit that closely.</p><p>“Ladybug?” Chat prompts.</p><p>She tears her eyes away from his pecs. “Right! I meant…normal leather. Like, a jacket or something.”</p><p>For a moment, Chat squints at her. Then his expression clears, and he folds his arms across his chest with an easy grin. “I can’t say I wear anything that edgy in my civilian life, my lady. Actually, my fashion sense is fairly conservative.”</p><p>“Really?” Ladybug says. Chat once told Marinette that his family takes fashion seriously, but she’d thought he’d be allowed to have a <em>bit </em>of excitement in his wardrobe. “Oh. That’s too bad.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Chat says. “But why were you thinking about me in a leather jacket?”</p><p>“No reason! I just thought you’d look good in one.”</p><p>“Oh. Thanks?”</p><p>“You know, since…since you’re good-looking.”</p><p>Ladybug blushes as soon as she’s said the words. Chat should appreciate that, right? He’s told Marinette that he doesn’t often get compliments from people who matter. And he likes when people are honest. So, an honest compliment from the girl he’s in love with—that should cheer him up.</p><p>Chat’s eyes widen. “I—um, you think…I…oh, uh…”</p><p>Ladybug has never seen him this shy or flustered, but she takes it as a good sign. After all, it’s similar to how he reacted when Marinette told him he was attractive. “Of course I think so!” she says. “I’m not blind. You’re handsome. I bet you’re pretty popular with the girls, chaton.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Chat mutters. “So I’ve been told.”</p><p>Ladybug suddenly regrets opening her mouth. She remembers, now, something he said to Marinette before the dance: <em>Without the mask, people tend to just like me for my looks, I think. </em></p><p>“B-but you’re other things, too!” Ladybug adds. “You’re, um…nice, and, uh…generous…”</p><p>Why aren’t the words coming? It was so easy to reassure him as Marinette—but now, with Chat’s narrowed eyes and flattened ears, Ladybug finds herself frozen to the spot.</p><p>“Ladybug, why are you saying any of this?” Chat asks.</p><p>“I—well, I—I thought maybe you…needed to hear it from me?” Ladybug asks. Her voice pitches up on the last word, and she winces.</p><p>“So you’re just trying to make me feel good about myself?”</p><p>“Yes!” Ladybug says. “Yes, that’s—wait, no. Not <em>just</em>—”</p><p>“Do you even mean it?” Chat asks, hugging his arms to himself. “It doesn’t sound like you do.”</p><p>“Of course I do!” Ladybug says. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that. You—you mean a lot to me, so I wanted to tell you…” She sighs. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Chat says, but he turns his face away from her. “It just seemed a little disingenuous, after all this time. And I just told you that I’m trying to be more serious and focus on our friendship, so…it’s kind of a bad time to flirt with me.”</p><p>Ladybug stares at him, stunned. She never would have imagined that Chat would reject her flirting (even if she wasn’t trying to flirt). “I…right.”</p><p>After a moment, Chat meets her eyes again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to get mad. I appreciate the compliment, really.” He dips his head in a little bow. “I’m flattered to know that you aren’t immune to my charms, my lady.”</p><p>Ladybug nods slowly, her brain lagging behind the conversation. Chat doesn’t want to flirt, and he’s mad at her for complimenting him. Is that really what’s happening?  </p><p>Of course, Chat has gotten frustrated in the past. There were the Glaciator and Frozer battles, where he didn’t know how to handle rejection—and then there was Syren, where he was upset that Ladybug was keeping things from him.</p><p>But those incidents made sense. As for Chat getting upset that the girl he loves just tried to compliment him…she can’t figure that one out.</p><p>“I—I wasn’t flirting!” Ladybug blurts out, backtracking. “It was, um…strategy-related.”</p><p>“Okay,” Chat says. “I’ll bite. How is me being pretty related to strategy?”</p><p>“Well,” Ladybug says, as if she knows what she’s talking about. “You should know that I find you attractive, because…if we ever end up in a compromising position, then it might throw me off! And that’s definitely something you should know ahead of time.”</p><p>“Throw you off?” Chat echoes. “But we’ve been in plenty of compromising positions before, and <em>I’ve </em>never reacted. I mean, I even survived that time we got tied up with your yo-yo and your butt was—”</p><p>“Just in case!” Ladybug says. “So, I didn’t tell you that I find you attractive because I was flirting! I told you so that we’d…um…have a tactical advantage.”</p><p>For a few seconds, Chat doesn’t respond, and Ladybug wonders if he believes her. He must be feeling charitable, though, because he nods and gives her a thumbs-up.</p><p>“Understood,” he says. “I’ll do my best to keep my assets away from you, then. I wouldn’t want our <em>advantage tactique </em>to become an <em>advantage tactile.” </em></p><p>Ladybug groans. “Do the puns ever stop?”</p><p>“No,” Chat says, smile gleaming in the darkness. “Why did you even ask? You already knew the answer.” Sighing, he arches his back and stretches his arms above his head. “Well, now that that’s all settled, we should probably head home. I need at least eight hours of sleep if I’m going to stay pretty for you.”</p><p>Sensing a shift in the mood, Ladybug raises her eyebrows. “I’m sure you’re pretty even when you’re sleep-deprived, minou.”</p><p>“Only thanks to concealer.” Chat winks. “Anyway, I suppose I’ll need to be on my best behavior, if you’re going to start flirting with me all the time. <em>One </em>of us needs to keep a clear head if we’re going to beat akumas.”</p><p>“But I told you I wasn’t—”</p><p>“Right, sure. Not flirting. Just strategizing.” Chat shakes his head as he removes his baton from his back. “Because I’m a kind and considerate cat, I’ll pretend to forget that you were thinking about unzipping my suit earlier.”</p><p>“Leather jackets,” Ladybug growls, as her face heats. “I was thinking about leather jackets!”</p><p>“Yes,” Chat says. “Leather jackets…on my body.” Walking backwards towards the edge of the roof, he adds, “Try to get it out of your system before the next akuma battle, buguinette. Evil doesn’t rest for hormones.”</p><p>Ladybug scowls. “I—you—you mangy—”</p><p>“Bonne nuit, my lady,” Chat says. He reaches the edge of the roof, then turns and launches himself into the air, disappearing behind another building.</p><p>“Stupid cat,” Ladybug mutters.</p><p>It’s bad enough that she’s attracted to Chat, but it’s even worse that he <em>knows </em>it. Now the teasing will never stop.</p><p>Sighing, Ladybug throws her yo-yo and swings toward her balcony. At least imagining Chat in lace has given her some ideas for Adrien’s design.</p><p>Adrien. Ladybug should be focusing on <em>him, </em>after all. She just needs to stop thinking about Chat’s stupid muscled arms, and his stupid sweet smile, and his stupid considerate words—how hard can that be? She never thought about them before, after all.</p><p>Ladybug doesn’t love Chat that way. She doesn’t want to be with him like that.</p><p>She’s not sure why that thought feels a bit like a lie.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think I translated the “tactical advantage” pun correctly, but it’s not a common phrase, so I’m not positive. Apologies for any mistakes, lol.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Minor apologies--I accidentally told a few of you that there would be Marichat in this chapter, but I forgot that I broke up the chapters a bit differently when I edited them 😅 The Marichat is <i>next</i> chapter. In the meantime, enjoy some Adri(e)nette!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marinette sits on the stairs outside the school, springtime sunlight warming the closed sketchbook on her lap. She’d been on her way home when the sky suddenly inspired her: round, towering clouds, tinged yellow and pink—the kind that appear after a storm, their forms bright against a sky blue backdrop. The moment Marinette saw them, she threw her bag on the ground and sat down, sifting through a pencil box to find colors that matched what she was seeing.</p><p>For forty minutes, she sketched and scribbled, pencils flying across the page. It was the first time in days that ideas just kept flowing, and she thought that maybe—<em>maybe</em>—she’d finally beaten her art block.</p><p>When she finished, though, she realized that she’d only created outfits for herself. None of them were exciting enough for the contest, and none of them looked like they would suit Adrien.</p><p>Now she sits and broods, basking in the late afternoon sun with pages of designs that she can’t use.</p><p>“Salut, Marinette,” a voice calls. A moment later, a familiar figure sits down on the step next to her, his eyes green like budding leaves.</p><p>“Adrien!” Marinette says. She’d forgotten he was still in the school. “How was fencing?”</p><p>Adrien shrugs. “Fine. I wasn’t really at the top of my game, though. Kagami said that I seemed distracted.”</p><p>“Is something wrong?” Marinette asks, turning to face him. Her knees brush against his. “Is it…is it your father?”</p><p>Adrien shrugs again. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind. He’s part of it, but…” His eyes dart away from her, and he rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve also been thinking about you.”</p><p>“Me?” Marinette asks. “Why me?”</p><p>“Oh, just…” Adrien’s cheeks look pink, although that’s probably just from physical exertion. “You seem stressed, lately.”</p><p>“That’s nothing new,” Marinette says, smiling. “My calendar is not for the faint of heart.”</p><p>Adrien laughs, and the ringing sound of his voice warms Marinette’s skin more than the sun ever could. “Is there any blank space on it?”</p><p>“Unfortunately, no.” Marinette sighs. “I have too many commitments, but they’re all so worthwhile. I don’t want to drop any of them.”</p><p>“I don’t know how you do it, Marinette,” Adrien says. “You juggle so many responsibilities. If I tried to do all of that, I’d fall apart.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Marinette says. “Your schedule is packed! You hardly ever have free time.”</p><p>“I have more than you think,” Adrien says, his smile falling. “It’s just, a lot of it is spent alone in my room. I wish I could spend more time with you and the others, but my father won’t allow it.”</p><p>“That’s not fair,” Marinette says.</p><p>Adrien raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to tell my father that? Because Nino tried that once, and he’s still banned from the premises.”</p><p>“I could,” Marinette says. “Just say the word, and I’ll tell him this isn’t right. I don’t know if he’s trying to protect you from the paparazzi, or keep you focused on your studies, or something—but it’s wrong.” She huffs. “And if I have to show him scientific studies about the benefits of teens socializing with their peers, I will.”</p><p>A small smile appears on Adrien’s face, like sunlight peeking through clouds. “Marinette, I really appreciate that—but I don’t want you to start a fight with my father. Especially not when he’s judging your designs this summer.” He grimaces. “He’s usually impartial, but…not always.”</p><p>Marinette’s stomach twists at Adrien’s words. Up until a few weeks ago, she’d thought that maybe Gabriel Agreste was just a bit stricter than other parents. Lately, though, she’s noticing more and more red flags.</p><p>Gabriel never shows up to any of Adrien’s events—despite the fact that Adrien is his only child, despite the fact that Adrien’s mother is gone. And he once threatened to permanently pull Adrien out of public school just because Adrien lost a book, even though Adrien has always been obedient and well-behaved, and it wasn’t his fault that the book got stolen. And Gabriel makes Adrien work an unreasonable number of hours, with Adrien’s reward being…what, exactly? Sitting alone in his room while his friends have fun without him? <em>Occasionally </em>being allowed to join them for outings?</p><p>The more Marinette thinks about it, the angrier she gets. Not angry enough for an akuma to come after her, but close.</p><p>“Adrien,” Marinette says. She hesitates, afraid to overstep. “I just want to help, if I can. It sounds like some things are bothering you…and if you’re not comfortable talking about them, that’s fine! But I’m here if you need me. That’s what friends are for.”</p><p><em>Friends. </em>For once, she doesn’t have to force that word past her lips. In the past, of course, she’d been bitter that she was <em>only </em>a good friend to Adrien—but now, she realizes how important having friends is to him. She shouldn’t have skirted around the word for so long.</p><p>With some people, friendship might go without saying. Talking to Chat, though, and noticing the similarities between him and Adrien…Marinette thinks that maybe Adrien needs people to say these things outright. Otherwise, he questions them.</p><p>She never wants Adrien to question whether he can count on her.</p><p>Adrien doesn’t say anything for a long moment. His face is bright red—which makes Marinette think fencing must be more exhausting than she thought—and his mouth moves wordlessly, with the occasional stuttered sound catching in his throat.</p><p>“Is that okay?” Marinette asks softly.</p><p>“Can I hug you?” Adrien responds.</p><p>Marinette stares at him, slow to process his words. Adrien wants to hug her because she told him that they’re friends? She’d expected him to appreciate it, but she didn’t think he’d be <em>that </em>touched.</p><p>“O-of course,” Marinette says. “You don’t have to ask—”</p><p>She squeaks as Adrien throws himself forward and wraps his arms around her. He smells like deodorant and sweat—which isn’t surprising, since he was probably planning to shower at home after practice. And the skin of his face is warm where it’s tucked against Marinette’s neck, his hair tickling her skin; she feels every puff of air as he exhales.</p><p>Momentarily forgetting how to breathe, Marinette circles her arms around Adrien. Although she’s more comfortable around him these days, he’s pressed so closely that his scent lingers in every breath she takes, and it’s enough to make her dizzy.</p><p>Adrien relaxes in her arms, and Marinette tentatively pats his back. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.</p><p>“No,” Adrien murmurs. “I don’t want to bother you.”</p><p>“Adrien,” Marinette says, a bit too sharply. “You wouldn’t be bothering me. Is that what your father told you? That talking to people about your feelings is bothering them?”</p><p>There’s an edge to her words that she can’t smooth—partly because she’s angry at herself. How could she have been so blind? She thought Adrien had everything under control, that he was possessed with evergreen confidence. Now she sees that’s far from the truth.</p><p>Adrien tenses. “Please don’t drag him into this,” he says. “My father isn’t always great, but—he’s the only parent I have. I don’t want to waste energy being angry at him.”</p><p>Marinette inhales deeply, quelling the words on her tongue. Normally, she would speak her mind, even if the truth hurts. But she can hear the pain in Adrien’s voice, and she knows that now isn’t the time to talk about his father’s behavior.</p><p>“Alright,” Marinette says. “I won’t. But we’re talking about him some other time.” Adrien starts to protest, so she adds, “Only if you want to.”</p><p>Adrien hums in agreement, and Marinette prays that he’ll take her up on her offer. She doesn’t want to see him bottle things up.</p><p>Deep down, she’s a little nervous about the day he finally opens up to her. Over the past few weeks, she’s realized that she doesn’t know Adrien as well as she thought. It’s a lot to absorb so suddenly: his insecurities, his anxieties, his relationship with his father. She feels utterly unprepared, almost like she did when she fought her very first akuma battle.</p><p>Marinette will do it, though. She’ll do whatever it takes to support Adrien as his friend, because right now, that’s what he needs.</p><p>And if one day, Adrien wants her to be something else to him—something romantic—well…she’ll cross that bridge when she gets there.</p><p>Eventually, Adrien pulls away from the hug, though he’s sitting closer than before. His thigh brushes against hers, and their shoulders bump together, making Marinette’s heart thud in her chest.</p><p>“Oh!” Adrien says, pointing to the sketchbook on Marinette’s lap. “I meant to ask, how’s the designing going?”</p><p>Sighing, Marinette flips her sketchbook open. “I did have a burst of inspiration earlier,” she says. “But not for the contest. They’re just normal designs.”</p><p>“Can I see them?”</p><p>Marinette frowns. “Why are you so excited? You won’t be wearing them.”</p><p>“So?” Adrien asks. His lower lip curves in an endearing pout. “They’re designs you created. Of course I’m excited to see them.”</p><p>“Oh.” Marinette blushes. “W-well, here they are,” she says, handing him the sketchbook. “The colors aren’t quite right, but I based them on—”</p><p>“The sky!” Adrien says. He clutches the sketchbook and smiles at it like it’s a golden ticket. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. But these designs remind me of the sky after a storm. Is that what you were going to say?”</p><p>“Yes!” Marinette says. “It was raining pretty hard during class, and when it cleared up, the sky looked like that.” She glances up at the sky. “It’s different now, though.”</p><p>Adrien nudges her with his elbow. “Still have the umbrella I gave you?”</p><p>“What!” Marinette says. “N-no, I—I mean—well, yes, actually.” She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, avoiding his eyes. “It was the first thing you ever gave me, and that was when we became friends, so…of course I kept it.”</p><p>“You did?” Adrien says. “I, um…that’s good. Uh, I can give you more, if you want! I have a lot of umbrellas. Or, I mean, I can afford a lot of umbrellas. Actually, I can afford a lot of things. But I’m not bragging! I just meant, if you, um…want…umbrellas.” Marinette squints at him, and he clears his throat, his face flushed. “Anyway, I can imagine what the sky looked like, based on these designs. They’re gorgeous, Marinette.”</p><p>“A gorgeous waste of time, maybe,” Marinette mutters. “Like I said, I still don’t have anything for the contest.”</p><p>Adrien traces the page with his finger, careful to avoid the pencil drawings. “Why don’t you want to use any of these?”</p><p>“They don’t remind me of you,” Marinette says. “I mean…”</p><p>Adrien raises an eyebrow. “What, I’m not gorgeous and stunning like the sky?”</p><p>“Wh—you—that—” Without thinking, Marinette gives Adrien a light shove. “Are you just trying to make me say you’re pretty?”</p><p>“Is it working?”</p><p>Marinette snatches the sketchbook from him and folds her arms. “Maybe I should just design a brown paper bag for you to wear over your face.”</p><p>Adrien laughs. “Is that all you’re planning to design? Because, I mean, I’d be happy to go clothes-less if that’s your artistic vision, but I think my father might have reservations.”</p><p>“Naked again?” Snorting, Marinette slips the sketchbook into her backpack. “Who would’ve thought the fashion model was so against wearing clothes?”</p><p>“Oh, well.” Adrien’s mouth twists slightly. “Clothes are fine, I guess.”</p><p>“In that case, how about a brown paper bag for your entire body?”</p><p>“Quoi!” Adrien says. “And deprive the world of my beauty? You’d be disqualified for a breach of ethics.”</p><p>“It’s avant-garde,” Marinette says. “Isn’t that what fashion is all about?”</p><p>Adrien cackles, the sound nasally and brash. “This isn’t that sort of contest. They want something normal.”</p><p>“What about a ski mask?”</p><p>“They’ll think I’m a hooligan who’s trying to rob Gabriel Agreste.”</p><p>“Astronaut helmet?”</p><p>“I think I look better with hair, don’t you?”</p><p>“A masquerade mask!” Marinette says.</p><p>She smiles, prepared to laugh at Adrien’s next comeback—but instead, the smile on his face falters. “Uh, wh-why—why one of those?” Adrien asks.</p><p>Marinette’s smile slips as well. “B-because it would cover part of your face,” she says. “We’re trying to hide your good looks, remember? Of course, your jawline is still a problem, but…”</p><p>Like a lagging video, Adrien finally laughs. “Right. So…you’re having trouble imagining what would look good on me? Would it help if you went through my closet? I could try on some different outfits for you, if you want.”</p><p>“Putting on clothes for me?” Marinette says. “Wow. That’s quite the sacrifice.”</p><p>“I know, but I’m willing to do it for you.”</p><p>“Hm,” Marinette says. “That could work. But I don’t know if you’d have the full range of clothes I need. Maybe if we went to the mall…?”</p><p>Adrien grimaces. “Probably not an option. If we do, I’ll get mobbed by fans.”</p><p>“Oh. Right.” Somehow, despite watching videos and reading magazines, Marinette always forgets that Adrien is <em>famous. </em>Unlike most teens, he gets chased by fans and paparazzi everywhere he goes. “We can try your closet, then. And I can collect some things—maybe raid my friends’ closets, or buy a few shirts and leave the tags on.”</p><p>“Do you want me to buy them?” Adrien asks, a tiny crease in his forehead. “You shouldn’t have to spend money for this.”</p><p>Marinette waves a hand. “I’ll get a refund, as long as we don’t tear them apart.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” Adrien says. “I’ll let Nathalie know you’re coming over sometime. And, um…if I can’t buy you clothes, can I at least buy you lunch sometime?”</p><p>Laughing, Marinette shakes her head. “I can afford food, you know. I might not be rich, but I make money off commissions and stuff.”</p><p>“I know!” Adrien says. “I just—uh, maybe we could get lunch and eat it together?”</p><p>“Oh!” Marinette says. “You could ask your father about staying at school for lunch, instead of going home. Then the four of us could eat together.” She nudges him with her elbow. “And if you need an excuse, you could always tell him you want to do homework in the library or something.”</p><p>One of Adrien’s teeth digs into his bottom lip. “Um…yeah, I can ask him. But if he says no—maybe you and I could go to a café or something, some weekend?”</p><p>“Wouldn’t you get mobbed by fans?” Marinette says. “I don’t want you to get chased across Paris. The school is probably safer, isn’t it?”  </p><p>Adrien sighs. “You’re probably right. I mean, the cafeteria doesn’t really have the best atmosphere. But you have a point.”</p><p>He sounds so resigned as he says it, and Marinette’s heart aches. Until now, she’d never really thought about it—but being a celebrity can’t be easy for Adrien. He always has to watch where he goes, what he says, what he does. One slip, and ten blogs will have reported it within a few minutes; privacy means nothing to them.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Marinette says, touching his arm. “But at least you’d get to hang out with us more! That’s good, right?”</p><p>Adrien smiles, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. I’ll talk to Nathalie. And I’ll text you later so we can pick a day for you to check out my closet.” Yawning, he pushes himself to his feet and holds out his hand. “I’d better get going. I’ll see you around?”</p><p>Marinette takes Adrien’s hand and lets herself be pulled up. “Yes! And I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to figure out your design. I don’t know what the problem is.”</p><p>Adrien gives her hand a light squeeze before letting go. Silently, Marinette applauds herself for stringing together full sentences while her crush was holding her hand. “Well,” he says, “I guess I’m a little complicated.” He winks. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”</p><p>Once again, there it is: the coy tone implying that Adrien knows something Marinette doesn’t. But what could he be talking about? Is there more to figure out, beyond Adrien’s insecurities and his relationship with his father?</p><p>“Of course I will!” Marinette says. “Solving problems is what I do.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Adrien says, smiling softly. “You do.” With a brush of his fingers against her arm, he starts down the steps toward his car—which Marinette hadn’t even noticed, since she was so wrapped up in their conversation. As Adrien climbs into the backseat, he calls, “Have a good evening, Marinette!”</p><p>“Y-you too!” Marinette says.</p><p>Her mind feels a bit like melted butter. When did Adrien start touching her so casually all the time?</p><p>He’s never been shy about hand-holding or shoulder touches, and he certainly hadn’t minded when they slow-danced at Chloé’s party. Lately, though, Adrien seems even more tactile. He sits closer to Marinette. He leans forward then they’re talking. He seems to go out of his way to make sure that they’re touching.</p><p>Marinette groans. Is Adrien signaling that he’s romantically interested in her, or does he just think that this is something good friends do? She knows he’s not oblivious, but he can be a bit dense when it comes to affairs of the heart.</p><p>“That went well!” Tikki whispers from Marinette’s purse.</p><p>“I guess,” Marinette says. “I barely stuttered, at least!”</p><p>“Yes, you did so well!” Tikki says. “You only made one mistake.”</p><p>“What?” Marinette gasps. She grabs the purse and brings it closer to her face. “Tikki, what did I say? Did I blurt out how attractive he is? Did I insult his father? <em>Did I mention the mattress pictures?”</em></p><p>“No!” Tikki says. She giggles, her big eyes shining with mirth. “But you did just turn down a lunch date with him.”</p><p>“I—I—<em>what?” </em>Marinette exclaims. Someone walking past her on the sidewalk glances at her quizzically, and Marinette weakly gestures to her purse. “Um…phone. Speakerphone.” Lowering the purse, Marinette murmurs, “Tikki, he never asked me on a lunch date. What are you talking about?”</p><p>Tikki sighs. “Oh, Marinette.”</p><p>“No, really,” Marinette says. “When did he say that?”</p><p>But today, apparently, Tikki doesn’t feel like giving answers—and so, Marinette walks home with a giggling purse instead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you're still craving some Marichat content, consider checking out my most recent one-shot <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26512921">here</a> 😄</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No spoilers for (or mention of) the special episode in the comments, please! I and many others have not seen it yet. </p><p>Another note: This chapter has a few more references to <i>Burgundy and Blush</i> than usual, but I've included enough explanations in the narration that it should all make sense.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With a three-day weekend ahead of her, Marinette sits hunched over her desk and scribbles on a piece of notebook paper. She’s making a last-minute list of clothes she wants to borrow from Adrien’s closet when she visits him the next day: waistcoats, ties, things that she either wasn’t able to afford or couldn’t find in her friends’ wardrobes. Hopefully, if she goes in with a plan, she won’t get distracted by Adrien’s rows and rows of clothes (or by the fact that those clothes have been on his body). </p><p>She growls, pencil moving rapidly as she erases a clothing item she’s written twice. No, no. No more thinking about Adrien’s body. Starting tomorrow, she needs to set her crush aside and focus on two things: her friendship with Adrien, and the design contest.</p><p>There’s a quiet rapping above her bed, and a muted voice calls out, “Marinette?”</p><p>“It’s open,” she says, keeping her voice at a normal level. She doesn’t want her parents to know that Chat is in her room—and besides, she knows that he has enhanced hearing when he’s transformed.</p><p>Chat eases the trapdoor open and silently drops to the floor of her room. “Bonsoir, princesse.” He frowns at a pile of clothes by Marinette’s desk. “What are these?”</p><p>“Donations,” Marinette says, spinning around in her chair. “They’re from my friends. I’m meeting with Adrien tomorrow to figure out this design, and I need as many clothes as I can get my hands on.” She nods toward her closet. “I also bought a few things, but I’m going to return those to the store once we’re done.”</p><p>Chat wanders over to Marinette’s closet and opens the door, peering inside. His fingers inch toward one of the plastic bags hanging among her own clothes. “So, what did you bu—”</p><p>“No touching!” Marinette jumps to her feet, hands planted on her hips. “Keep those claws away from my lace.”  </p><p>“Oh, <em>lace?” </em>Chat says. He waggles his eyebrows. “Say, will you make me something, too? I still want that lace shirt I requested.”</p><p>Vaguely, Marinette recalls that Chat once said he would wear a lace shirt if she ever designed one. “I’ll consider,” she says. “But it’s rude to root through someone’s closet without permission, you know.”</p><p>Chat gives her a guilty grin. “Apologies. I was curious.” He closes her closet and turns to her, his tail lazily swishing back and forth. “I wish I could donate to your clothing pile, but I’m afraid that this”—he gestures to his suit—“is the only clothing I can offer. And I can’t really afford to take it off.” He winks. “At least, not for that long.”</p><p>“Dirty cat,” Marinette mutters. She reaches under her desk and grabs the spray bottle she recently acquired for comments like that. “Make one more joke and I’ll—wait. The suit doesn’t actually come off, does it?”</p><p>Chat raises his eyebrows. “Would you want it to?”</p><p>Scowling, Marinette fires a warning spritz from the bottle. Chat is too far away to get hit, but he shrinks back nonetheless, ears flattened against his head.</p><p>“N-no, it doesn’t!” Chat says. “Of course not. Why would it have that feature? That’s definitely inappropriate for battle—I mean, why would I need to take my suit off during an akuma attack? That doesn’t make any sense.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “Please don’t spray me.”</p><p>Eyes narrowed, Marinette sets the spray bottle on her desk, still within reach if she needs it again. “Ignoring that,” she says, “maybe I should have asked to borrow clothes from your closet. You said you have a pretty big collection, right? After all, you managed to match my dress for the dance at the last minute.”</p><p>“True,” Chat says. “But I’m sure you can find everything you need in Adrien’s closet.”</p><p>“Hopefully.” Marinette sighs and sinks into her desk chair again. “I just feel so incompetent. I’ve never had this much trouble designing before.”</p><p>“Well…” Chat picks his way over to her, avoiding the pile of clothes on the ground. “Maybe you should stop worrying about getting it right the first time. Just pick something! If it ends up being wrong, you can always try something else.”</p><p>“Unless nothing I try works,” Marinette grumbles.</p><p>“Marinette.” Chat crouches by her chair and takes one of her hands in his, sending a tingle across her skin. “You’re amazingly talented, and whatever you end up making will be beautiful.” With his free hand, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, then rests his palm against her cheek. “Just like you.”</p><p>Normally, it would be easy to brush off Chat’s flirting. Marinette could swat his hand, and fire off a quick retort, and that would be that. <em>Normally, </em>though, Chat says this sort of thing with a wink or a grin, some sort of sign that he’s teasing.</p><p>Right now, he’s not grinning. He’s not winking. He’s staring up at Marinette, practically marveling at her, cupping her cheek as if he’s about to lean in and kiss her.</p><p>Marinette’s heartbeat speeds up. Is that what Chat is going to do? Kiss her?</p><p>Indecision locks her limbs. If he’s trying to kiss her, shouldn’t she push him away? Shouldn’t she remind him that she’s in love with Adrien, and that he’s head over heels for Ladybug?</p><p>That’s what she needs to do. So why does every muscle in her body rebel at the thought?</p><p>Here, now, Marinette wants to close the distance between them and feel his lips against hers. She even mentally choreographs each move: she would lean forward too far, and fall out of her chair, and land in his arms. Then they would kiss on the floor until someone’s back started to hurt—and then they’d move to the chaise longue, because really, this kiss has waited long enough, and they should make it last. Chat would whisper sweet words against her mouth, and Marinette would hold him tight, pouring every ounce of her love into their embrace. </p><p>Then Chat would tell Marinette that he loves her. She’d say the same, and between kisses, Chat would ask, <em>What about Adrien? </em>So she would tell him that she doesn’t even remember that other boy’s name, because Chat is her partner, her best friend, her other half, and she’s been denying that for far too long.</p><p>“Marinette,” Chat says softly. His eyes are closer than before, and with them, his lips. “You’re not doubting yourself, are you?”</p><p>“A little,” Marinette says. Her eyes flick down to his lips. “Aren’t you?”</p><p>Is he thinking about Ladybug, as he leans close enough to feel each breath Marinette exhales? Is he questioning his love for her, as his eyes fall to Marinette’s mouth?</p><p>“Doubt you?” Chat asks. “Never.”</p><p>Marinette takes a shaky breath. “N-no. I mean, doubting…your…”</p><p>
  <em>Doubting your love for Ladybug.</em>
</p><p>The thought sends a shock through her.</p><p>Chat is love with Ladybug. And she’s in love with Adrien.</p><p>With sudden clarity, Marinette jerks back, and Chat’s hand slips from her face. “I—sorry, I just—”</p><p>“Right!” Chat says, throwing up his hands. “I’m also sorry, for—that.” He jumps to his feet and brushes imaginary dust off his suit. “Anyway, I have full confidence that you’ll come up with something good. You dress for the dance was gorgeous, and I know you’re talented.”</p><p>Marinette swallows nervously. For weeks, she’s suspected that the night of the dance wasn’t a fleeting thing. She wasn’t just swept away by the luscious decorations, or the slow dancing, or the dim lights. Here, sitting in her bright, messy room, Marinette’s heart is beating just as quickly for Chat.</p><p>She’s tried not to think about Chat that way. And sometimes, when he’s not around, she succeeds. But when he’s in the same room as her, talking and laughing, leaning so close that she can see each of his golden eyelashes—how can her stupid heart resist?</p><p>“Marinette?” Chat says.</p><p>“Th-thank you,” Marinette says. “You’re right. I’m sure I’ll figure this out.” She stands and stretches her arms above her head. “I should probably stop working for now, though. I think we’re having dinner soon.”</p><p>“Oh!” Chat says. “Then I’ll leave you to it. I don’t want to hold you up.”</p><p>He turns toward the stairs to her bed, and Marinette surprises herself by reaching out and grabbing his wrist. “Wait!”</p><p>Chat pauses. “Yes?”  </p><p>“Uh.” Marinette hastily withdraws her hand. She hadn’t thought this through; she just didn’t want to see Chat leave. “Do you want to stay for dinner? We talked about that a while ago, but you’ve never taken me up on the offer.”</p><p>Chat raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to just invite myself to dinner. That would be impolite.” He presses a hand to his chest. “And you know I’m a well-mannered cat.”</p><p>“Yes, I know,” Marinette says. “You and your rich family. I know we don’t have a ten-course meal with five different forks, but will you stay?”</p><p>Chat frowns. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a ten-course meal. Or used five forks.” He nods slowly, staring into the distance. “That would be a lot of food, but I think I could manage it.”</p><p>“Chat.”</p><p>He blinks, and Marinette wonders if she’s imagining the bit of drool on the corner of his mouth. “Of course!” he says. “I’d love to stay for dinner. Will your parents mind?”</p><p>“Are you kidding me?” Marinette says. “They’ve been dying to have you over. If anything, they’ll be upset that you didn’t visit sooner.”</p><p>“Well,” Chat says, “maybe if <em>somebody </em>had invited me sooner…”</p><p>Marinette sighs. Over the past few weeks, she’s had plenty of chances to ask him. She’s only avoided the question in a vain effort to keep her distance—because deep down, she knows it’s a bad idea to keep spending time with Chat like this. Not only could it compromise their identities, but worse, every second Marinette spends with Chat is another second she spends falling for him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says. “I promise I’ll invite you over more often.”</p><p>“Good,” Chat says. “You haven’t forgotten that we’re friends, have you?”  </p><p>Well. These days, Marinette could certainly use a reminder.</p><p>“I’ll never forget that,” she says. She smirks and pokes his chest. “But if we’re really friends, doesn’t that mean you’ll invite me to <em>your </em>place for dinner?”</p><p>Chat’s nose wrinkles. “Even if my secret identity wasn’t a problem, I don’t think you’d want to have dinner with my father.”</p><p>At that, Marinette’s teasing smile falters. “Maybe not,” she says. “Um, wait here! I’ll go tell my parents that you’re joining us. If you hear delighted screams, that’s why.”</p><p>“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Chat says. “I’m used to the screams of adoring fans.”</p><p>Marinette rolls her eyes. “I see those haven’t gone to your head at all.” Smiling, she adds, “You deserve it, though. You do so much for people.”</p><p>Strangely, Chat’s face falls. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Is something wrong?”</p><p>“No, no!” Chat says. “But, well, I think you give people too much credit. I wouldn’t be this popular if I weren’t a teenage sex symbol.”</p><p>“That’s not true,” Marinette says firmly. “People admire you for your courage, and humor, and kindness. Not just your looks.”</p><p>A small smile tugs at Chat’s lips, a far cry from his usual blinding grins. “Thank you, Marinette. I’m…glad you think that.” He heaves a sigh. “You should go talk to your parents. I’ll wait here.”</p><p>Marinette would rather stay and try to decipher the sad look in Chat’s eyes—but she can tell, from the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, that now isn’t the time for that conversation.</p><p>She reaches down and takes his hand. “One moment, please. I need to go announce our guest of honor.” Cheeks burning, she lifts Chat’s hand to her lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles.</p><p>It’s meant to be tongue-in-cheek, a silly gesture that will cheer him up—but Chat doesn’t laugh. Instead, his face turns pinker than Marinette’s room, and his eyes go wide. “I—uh—you—hand—um. Yes. Lips. Thank you.” His throat jumps as he swallows. “Th-that…food? We’re eating food?”</p><p>“Yes!” Marinette says, feeling a bit feverish. “I’ll go ask if we have some! I mean—I—I’ll go now.”</p><p>Face hotter than it’s ever been, she scrambles through the trapdoor and hastily pulls it shut behind herself.</p><p>When Marinette reaches the bottom of the stairs, she sees her mother stationed at the stove and her father setting the table. She clears her throat awkwardly. “Um, Chat Noir is here,” she says. “He dropped by to say hello, and I asked him to stay for dinner, so…”</p><p>“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Sabine says. “Tom, set an extra place at the table.”</p><p>Marinette glances at the trapdoor, then creeps further into the kitchen. “And please,” she whispers, “don’t tease, or wink, or—or do that thing.”</p><p>“What thing?” Tom asks.</p><p>“Shh! He has good hearing.” Marinette folds her arms. “You know what thing I mean! Where you two conspire to set me up with my attractive friends.”</p><p>“I’ve never…” Tom trails off when Sabine and Marinette give him pointed looks. Holding up his hands in surrender, he says, “Fine, fine. I just won’t say a word all night, then.”</p><p>“Papa,” Marinette says, laughing. “I didn’t say that! Just don’t act like it’s romantic. Chat is visiting as a friend, the same way he took me to the dance as a friend.”</p><p>Tom wrinkles his nose. “And has he ever kissed you <em>as a friend?” </em></p><p>“What?” Marinette shrieks. “N-no! That’s never happened!”</p><p>And yet, hadn’t they almost kissed a few minutes ago? Maybe Marinette just imagined that. But her protests certainly <em>sound </em>suspicious—which means that her parents will probably think something steamy happened between Marinette and Chat, and as soon as he comes downstairs, they’ll try to give him and Marinette a mortifying Talk about bedroom activities and—</p><p>“Tom,” Sabine says, “stop teasing her. And Marinette, go tell Chat that we’re happy to have him.”</p><p>Hoping she’s not blushing too noticeably, Marinette returns to the base of the stairs. “Chat!” she calls. “You can come down!”</p><p>Th trapdoor swings open, and Chat descends the stairs, the tip of his tail lifted slightly. “I heard you screaming,” he says. “I guess you’re really excited to have me over for dinner, hm?”</p><p>“No, I—I thought I saw a bug,” Marinette says, leading him over to the table. “Anyway, I saved you a seat! Or, well, it’s the only extra seat, and no one ever sits there, so I guess I didn’t really save it. But, um, it’s yours, if you want.”</p><p>Chat snorts. “What’s my alternative? Sitting on the floor? I may be a cat, but—”</p><p>“No, no!” Marinette says. “Sit at the table, please.”</p><p>“What a shame,” Chat says. “I was looking forward to pawing at your chair and begging for food.” Laughing, he hops onto the spare stool. “Thanks for saving me a seat, princesse.”</p><p>Marinette winces, expecting her parents to comment on Chat’s pet name for her. They don’t seem to have heard, though—they’re wrapped up in some sort of conversation about the food.</p><p>Strangely, Marinette is disappointed by their silence, even though she usually hates their teasing.</p><p>“Chat Noir,” Tom says, turning around. “It’s good to see you again.”</p><p>“Monsieur Dupain!” Chat says, his voice pitched higher. With a wave of embarrassment, Marinette recalls the shovel talk her father gave him the night of the dance. “I’m sorry, I meant to visit sooner, but this is the first chance I’ve gotten. Thank you for having me.”</p><p>“There’s no need to apologize,” Sabine says, as she carries two steaming plates over to the table. “We’re happy to have you anytime.”</p><p>“Right.” Chat hunches his shoulders slightly. “Thank you.”</p><p>Sabine sets a plate in front of him, and he stares at it like he’s never seen chicken chasseur before.</p><p>Laughing, Marinette leans down and rests an elbow on Chat’s shoulder. “What, expecting solid gold plates?”</p><p>“N-no,” Chat says. “It’s not that.”</p><p>Marinette sits on the stool next to Chat and touches his arm lightly. “Are you okay?” she murmurs. “You know he wasn’t actually threatening you last time, right? My parents adore you.”</p><p>“I know. It’s just, um—I’m not used to being…” Chat shrugs without finishing his sentence, leaving Marinette to wonder how that thought ends.</p><p>“Sabine is right,” Tom says, seating himself across from Marinette. “You’re welcome any time. Even breakfast, if you want.”</p><p>“I doubt Chat wants to visit us that early,” Marinette says.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know.” Chat props an elbow against the table, his fist pressed against his cheek, and smiles at Marinette. “I’d be happy to start my day by seeing you—um, I mean, all of you. I can definitely visit for breakfast sometime.”</p><p>“It’s a little small for all four of us, but you and Marinette could have pastries on the balcony,” Sabine suggests. She sets the remaining two plates in front of herself and Tom, then takes the seat across from Chat. “Since the weather is getting warmer, that might be nice.”</p><p>“Elbows on the table?” Marinette teases Chat. “That’s not very well-mannered.”</p><p>Yelping, Chat withdraws his elbow from the table. “Sorry. And Madame Cheng, that sounds lovely. We actually did that after the dance, though it was a bit chilly that night.”</p><p>“I was kidding,” Marinette whispers, picking up her fork. “We don’t care if you put your elbows on the table.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Sabine asks Chat, as she cuts into a piece of chicken. “We haven’t heard much about the night of the dance, actually.”</p><p>Tom snorts. “But we’ve been told not to <em>pry or tease, </em>so…”</p><p>Chat peers at Marinette, his hands clasped on the edge of the table. “You haven’t brought it up? Was the date that bad?”</p><p>“No!” Marinette drops her fork, splattering tomato sauce on the table. She grabs a napkin to blot up the mess, then adds, “N-not at all! It was—uh—really, <em>really </em>nice, but—I, uh…”</p><p>Chat’s ears droop, and he glances down at his joined hands, thumbs fidgeting. “It’s okay. I know I ruined the mood a few times.”</p><p>“That’s not it,” Sabine says, before Marinette can climb on the table and scream in protest. “Marinette just didn’t want to give us ammunition. Tom and I have been known to tease her about her dates.”</p><p>“The mood was great!” Marinette adds, resting one of her hands on Chat’s. “Maman is right—I was trying to avoid getting teased.”</p><p>“Oh.” Chat ducks his head, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.</p><p>“She kept humming this one song all weekend,” Tom adds. “How did it go? Was it—”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says. She knows exactly what song it is: it’s the one that played while Marinette and Chat slow-danced and said that they loved each other. “I—I mean, it was that song by Trois Cafés Gourmands.”</p><p>“That one’s catchy,” Chat says.</p><p>Tom frowns. “Weren’t you humming a slow song?”</p><p>“Nope,” Marinette says. “You must be misremembering.”</p><p>“Wait,” Chat says, leaning toward her. There’s an orange sauce stain on the corner of his mouth. “Was it one of the songs from my playlist?”</p><p>“No,” Marinette says. Her face burns with a blush, though, giving her away. “Or, um…maybe? I don’t remember.”</p><p>“A playlist?” Sabine says, eyes trained on her chicken. “I didn’t hear about that.”</p><p>“Oh, um, yes,” Chat says. “I made a playlist of songs for slow dancing—”</p><p>“You’re giving them ammo,” Marinette hisses.</p><p>“But there was no slow dancing!” Chat hastily adds. “Just, uh…fast dancing?”</p><p>“Chat taught me some waltz moves and ballroom dances,” Marinette says. “He knows a lot.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t say that,” Chat mutters.</p><p>Marinette senses an opportunity to shift her parents’ focus. “Chat is being modest,” she says. “He’s a graceful dancer, and a good teacher. And always a gentleman, of course.”</p><p>“Well,” Chat says, “I mean, I try to have good manners, but I don’t think I’d call myself <em>grace—”</em></p><p>“All my friends loved him,” Marinette continues, “and Alya and Nino want to meet up with him again.”</p><p>“How are you going to manage that?” Tom asks.</p><p>“We won’t,” Marinette says, because she can’t imagine successfully fooling her friends twice. “But anyway—Alya was especially impressed.” She nudges Chat with her elbow. “I don’t know what you two talked about while you were dancing, but you got her stamp of approval.”</p><p>Not for the first time, the question burns in her mind: what <em>did </em>the two of them talk about? Afterwards, when Alya rejoined Marinette, she claimed that “Charles” was totally in love with her. Thanks to confidentiality, though, she refused to tell Marinette why.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know,” Chat says. “She just asked me about our friendship. Don’t worry, I didn’t give my identity away.”</p><p>Smiling, Sabine scoops some vegetables onto her fork. “Trust us when we say that Marinette enjoyed the dance. She was smiling and humming all weekend, and I don’t think it was because of deliveries or homework.”</p><p>Tom nods. “And she turned pink every time we tried to ask—”</p><p>“Hey!” Marinette says, making an X over her chest. “I told you, no teasing!” She smiles sheepishly and glances at Chat. “But, um…yes. I enjoyed the date.”</p><p>Chat squeaks. “Th-that’s…um…good.” Cheeks red like the sauce on his plate, he shoves a forkful of mushroom into his mouth and avoids her eyes.</p><p>Sighing, Marinette pokes a piece of chicken with her fork. She’s not sure what exactly happened between them earlier, but Chat might (mistakenly) think that she was trying to kiss him. And if he thinks that she enjoyed their date <em>too </em>much, then he’ll (wrongly) think that she has romantic feelings for him—and then their friendship will become awkward.</p><p>Chat is so insecure, though, and so quick to worry that Marinette doesn’t enjoy spending time with him. Marinette is happy to embarrass herself a bit, if it means his ears and tail stop drooping.</p><p>After a few minutes, Chat perks up and goes back to his usual self. He gestures animatedly as he tells funny stories, and listens attentively as Marinette’s parents talk about work at the bakery. He puns, and compliments their cooking several times, and tells them how beautiful the apartment décor is. And when they realize they’ve watched some of the same movies on Netflix, they discuss those, too, applauding each other’s film tastes and swapping recommendations.</p><p>Marinette feels a bizarre surge of pride as she watches Chat interact with her parents. It’s as if he’s passed some secret test, like a boyfriend being brought home to meet the family—except, of course, Marinette isn’t dating Chat, and doesn’t <em>want </em>to date Chat, because they’re friends, and she’s madly in love with Adrien.</p><p>Still, she can’t deny that he fits in with her family. Every interaction feels natural, comfortable, and Marinette’s stupid brain starts wandering into the future. Maybe when they’re adults, she and Chat will visit her parents’ apartment, and have dinners and movie nights together…</p><p>Blushing, Marinette stuffs a piece of chicken in her mouth.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Chat asks, as he digs into his second serving. “You haven’t said much.”</p><p>“Just thinking!” Marinette says. “Uh, design ideas.”</p><p>“That makes sense,” Chat says. “I know you can get pretty absorbed in that stuff.” He grins and pokes her arm. “If you need to run off and sketch some ideas while they’re fresh in your mind, I won’t be offended.”</p><p>“I—I’ll keep that in mind,” Marinette says. She grabs her glass of water and frantically chugs it, hoping that Chat’s focus will go back to her parents.</p><p>Even when he isn’t talking to her, though, she still feels his attention. His foot brushes against hers every once in a while, and then he leaves it there, tickling her ankle; or their elbows touch, and he seems to lean into the contact, his arm warm against her skin.</p><p>And he keeps <em>looking </em>at her. Granted, that’s whenever she’s talking, which is the polite thing to do—but his gaze is so intense that Marinette feels it even when she’s watching her parents across the table.</p><p>It’s her fault for being so hyperaware of him, though. She’s the one who invited him to dinner after she almost kissed him, without stopping to talk about what happened first.</p><p>Then again, what is there to discuss, really? Marinette got swept up in a tender moment and almost did something stupid, because she’s a teenager who’s occasionally ruled by hormones.</p><p>That’s why her skin tingles whenever Chat touches her. That’s why she occasionally wants to fall into his arms and press her lips against his. Hormones, plain and simple.</p><p><em>But you don’t feel that way about your other attractive friends, </em>her mind needles. <em>You don’t get flustered around Alya or Nino. </em></p><p>Marinette does her best to focus on the conversation, rather than let those thoughts develop any further.</p><p>When everyone has finished eating and the conversation begins to wane, Sabine gets to her feet. “You two keep talking,” she tells Marinette. “Your father and I will do the dishes tonight.”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Chat says, jumping off the stool. “Let me help. It’s the least I can do.”</p><p>“You’re our guest,” Sabine says. “I’m not going to put you to work.”</p><p>“I insist,” Chat says. He picks up his plate and circles the table to join her in the kitchen. “Please. I’ll feel like I’m imposing otherwise.”</p><p>Marinette knows that Chat can be convincing when he wants to be, and tonight is no exception. Clearly moved by his pleading eyes and charming smile, Sabine sighs. “Alright,” she says. “Marinette, why don’t you two work together?”</p><p>“Of course!” Marinette says. She grabs her plate and scrambles into the kitchen, nearly tripping as she does. Fortunately, before she drops anything, Chat takes the plate from her and sets it on the counter. “Um, I’ll wash, you dry?”</p><p>“Sure.” Chat delicately lifts the dish towel from where it’s draped over the stove handle. “This towel?”</p><p>“Yep.” With a smirk, Marinette flips on the tap. “Do you even know how to wash dishes, rich boy?”</p><p>“Marinette,” Chat says. “I’ve washed a dish before. How else would I hide the evidence of my midnight snacking?”</p><p>Rolling her eyes, Marinette begins rinsing off plates, and Chat stands at her shoulder, towel ready in his hands. She’s tense as she works, expecting him to mention what happened upstairs—either with a flirtatious comment, or a whispered, <em>Were you about to kiss me? </em></p><p>But Chat doesn’t say anything; he just hums classical music and dries off dishes.</p><p>That makes Marinette feel better—because if Chat isn’t trying to discuss it, either, then that means it isn’t worth discussing.</p><p>At one point, Chat’s humming breaks off, and he turns to Marinette. Very seriously, he murmurs, “Don’t move.”</p><p>Marinette frowns. “Chat? What…”</p><p>Moving slowly, Chat lifts one clawed finger to her cheek. Marinette stands completely still, watching his hand move closer and closer—and then he pokes the air next to her cheek with a smile.</p><p>“You had a soap bubble on your face,” he says.</p><p>Marinette’s skin heats, and she tells herself it’s just the warm water. “Hey,” she says. “Watch those claws! I don’t want you to poke my eye out.”</p><p>Chat smiles softly and taps Marinette’s cheek. “You know I’d never hurt you.” He leans forward, the towel in his hands brushing against Marinette’s arm. “Actually, I’ve made it my personal mission to protect you.”</p><p>“Oh?” Marinette asks. “R-really?”</p><p>She silently curses her heart, which speeds up as Chat moves closer. Is this going to happen every time he’s near? Won’t it fade eventually?</p><p>“That’s right,” Chat says. “I’ll stop akumas, troublesome classmates, insidious art block. Consider me your personal knight.” He leans back against the counter, arms folded. “Of course, we all know who your handsome prince is…”</p><p>“W-well,” Marinette says, picking up another dish. She’s not sure why, but it feels wrong to talk about Adrien when Chat is here—almost like she’s being disloyal. “I think having a knight is just as important.”</p><p>Chat’s face looms in her periphery, and against Marinette’s better judgment, she turns and meets his bright green eyes. “Is that so?” he asks.</p><p>Marinette’s eyes dart down to his lips, which are twisted in the slightest smirk. A small part of her brain tells her to kiss it away—to see if he’s still smirking <em>then</em>—but the rest of her mind…</p><p>The rest of her mind doesn’t rebel as much as it should.</p><p>“Hm,” Chat says, when Marinette hasn’t responded. “You know, being a knight is nice, but I wouldn’t mind getting to be the prince for once. Do you think Adrien would be willing to trade places with me? A <em>prince and the pauper </em>sort of deal?”</p><p>Marinette scoffs. “You’re hardly a pauper.”</p><p>“Perhaps not,” Chat says. “But Adrien is rich in one way I’m not.”</p><p>“And what’s that?” Marinette asks. She hates that her voice is shaky, and that her palms suddenly feel slippery with sweat instead of soap—but this, apparently, is the effect Chat has on her now.</p><p>Chat leans even closer. “Can’t you guess?”</p><p>At that, the plate slips from Marinette’s hands and clatters into the sink. Chat leaps back, flattened ears disappearing among his blond locks. </p><p>“Oops!” Marinette hastily grabs the plate and flips the water back on. “Sorry. My fingers were slippery.”</p><p>She hopes Chat doesn’t notice the blush on her face, or the way her fingers move clumsily as she scrubs the plate clean. Twice in the same night, all because of gorgeous eyes and tempting lips—what’s wrong with her?</p><p>“Are you alright?” Chat asks, his hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“I’m fine!” Marinette says. Her eyes stay glued to the soap suds. “And, uh, is it a modeling contract? The difference between the two of you?”</p><p>Chat is quiet for a moment, and Marinette wonders if it’s too obvious that she’s avoiding the original question. “No. And I don’t envy him <em>that. </em>I don’t think I would enjoy modeling that much.”</p><p>“Really?” Marinette asks, handing him the plate. “I would’ve thought you’d eat up the attention.” Chat’s lips purse, and she hastily adds, “Not that I think you’re an attention hog. It’s just, you like to play it up for the cameras sometimes.”</p><p>Chat frowns at the plate, making no move to dry it. Drops of water plop onto the floor. “That’s because I can choose when I’m in front of the cameras,” he says. “If I decide to vault away and disappear into an alley, no one can follow me.”</p><p>“Oh,” Marinette says. “I didn’t think about that.”</p><p>“Right,” Chat says. “Modeling is—I mean, if I modeled, I’d feel trapped in front of the camera. You’re stuck there until the photographer is done with you. It doesn’t matter if your neck starts to hurt, or you’ve got a cramp in your leg, or you’ve had a horrible day and don’t feel like smiling…”</p><p>“You’ve got a lot of thoughts,” Marinette notes. She bumps her shoulder against his. “If I didn’t know any better—”</p><p>“I have a friend who models,” Chat says. “They’ve complained to me a few times. I know it seems fun and glamorous, but it isn’t.” Sighing, he runs the towel across the plate. “The other thing is, people are just…gawking at you all the time. It’s objectifying. You’ve heard that before, right?” Chat’s brow furrows, his eyes downcast. “Do you think Adrien enjoys having a career based entirely on his looks?”</p><p>“That’s not true!” Marinette says. She glances over at her parents, only to see that they’re disappeared from the room—although the television is still turned on, with voices murmuring in the background. “Adrien is an accomplished fencer and pianist, and he’s multilingual, and at the top of our class—plus he did voice acting once, and got great reviews—”</p><p>“I could have done better,” Chat says, setting the dried plate on top of the others.</p><p>“Now you’re being—oh,” Marinette says, as she remembers who Adrien played in the movie. She laughs. “I guess you could have.”</p><p>“Anyway,” Chat says. He bunches up the towel in his hands, still staring at the plates. “So, Adrien’s smart, and talented, and nice. How much of that is he famous for, really?”</p><p>“Well…people know those things.” Marinette finds herself staring at the plates as well, as if the shiny ceramic will reflect an answer back at her. “The magazines talk about his hobbies and charity work.”</p><p>“Hobbies,” Chat mutters.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Chat says. “I’m sure Adrien chose all of those activities for himself, and that none of them were forced on him by his father.”</p><p>“I guess,” Marinette says, quietly. She remembers, now, what Chat said the night of the dance—that he and other wealthy children are expected to master a musical instrument for the sake of prestige. It makes sense that the expectation extends to other activities. “I…guess I hoped that he enjoyed those things, regardless.”</p><p>Does Adrien really despise modeling? He’d seemed happy when he modeled that hat Marinette made, and he’s never seemed upset when she runs into him at outdoor photoshoots. But is that just a façade?</p><p>Dread unfurls in Marinette’s stomach. She asked Adrien to be her model for the competition—or, well, he offered, but maybe he only did that so that Marinette wouldn’t have to work with an obnoxious stranger. Or maybe he did it because <em>he</em> would rather work with someone he knows, to make an unsavory activity slightly more bearable.</p><p>Marinette blinks, eyes stinging slightly. Adrien had seemed excited about modeling her designs, but if Chat is right, then maybe Adrien is actually dreading it.</p><p>Her first real collaboration with Adrien—and it might be something he can’t stand, something that he’s gritting his teeth and suffering through.</p><p>“Do you think he doesn’t want to do the competition with me?” Marinette asks.</p><p>She feels stupidly selfish as she says it. <em>With me, </em>as if this is all about her. But that’s what her mind is stuck on: the thought that, when she’s trying to get to know Adrien better, she might be making him more miserable instead.</p><p>“Oh, no,” Chat says. “Marinette, that’s not what I meant at all. I’m sure he’s overjoyed to be working with you.”</p><p>“It doesn’t sound like it,” Marinette says. “You make it sound like—like he hates his life.”</p><p>“I…didn’t say that, exactly,” Chat says. “And he certainly doesn’t hate <em>you.” </em></p><p>“That’s just as bad! Then he’s forcing himself to do something he hates just because we’re friends.”</p><p>“I don’t think he hates it,” Chat says. “I—I exaggerated, and I’m not a mind-reader. In fact, if it was really so bad, I’m sure he’d tell you.”</p><p>Marinette doubts that. If the way Adrien shies away from discussing his homelife is any indication, he’d keep this sort of thing to himself, too.</p><p>“Well,” Marinette says. “I’m glad you’re not a model, anyway.”</p><p>“Oh?” Chat says. “Why’s that?”</p><p>“Because you would hate it,” Marinette says. “And I know you already have a lot of stressors in your life, so—I’m glad that’s one thing that you don’t have to deal with.”  </p><p>“Yeah,” Chat murmurs. “But, you know, there are <em>some </em>things I like. Being a superhero, and being able to afford anime on Blu-ray…” He leans into Marinette’s space, prompting her to meet his eyes. “And you, of course.”</p><p>“M-me too,” Marinette says. “I mean, I like you—that is, I like having you in my life.”</p><p>She squeezes her eyes shut, hoping that Chat won’t tease her any more. To her relief, he just laughs quietly. “That’s good,” he says. “Anyway! The rest of these dishes aren’t going to wash themselves, right?”</p><p>Marinette picks up a spoon and contemplates it. Her reflection stares back at her, and she wants to ask, <em>What’s wrong with you? Since when are you so nervous around Chat? </em></p><p>But she doesn’t, because she’s pretty sure Chat will make fun of her if she starts talking to the silverware.</p><p>“Do you want me to buy you a hand mirror, princesse?” Chat asks. “Someone with your beauty shouldn’t have to stare at her reflection in a spoon.”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says. “I was…um…checking for scratches.”</p><p>“Oh.” Chat tilts his head to the side. “I don’t think my teeth are <em>that </em>sharp.”</p><p>Marinette would beg to differ: she’s seen a flash of fangs several times whenever he’s transformed. “It’s good! No scratches. I’ll clean it now.”</p><p>She’s noticed so many things, along with the fangs. The way Chat’s hair spikes around his face, hiding the softness of his cheeks, and the way his claws never prick Marinette’s skin, even though they’re sharp enough to cut metal. The way his eyes soften behind the feral sclerae, drawing Marinette dangerously closer; the way he seems to sing when he speaks, his voice beckoning her toward a destructive idea.</p><p>And as she runs the spoon under warm water, Marinette wonders if the fluttering in her chest is really just a fleeting thing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Note: Next week's chapter is extra long, which means that I'll be taking a break the following week to make sure I stay on top of edits. That means I will be updating on Tuesday, October 6th, but I will <b>not</b> be updating on Tuesday, October 13th. Just wanted to give y'all a heads-up!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Quick note: This fic is canon-divergent around early Season 3, so many episodes (including Party Crasher and any episodes featuring Bananoir) did not happen in this universe. Also, I know it’s not canon, but I gave Adrien a walk-in closet in this fic, because it’s what the boy deserves.</p><p>And finally, please remember that I will not be updating next week! Expect the next update sometime around October 20th. So...that means y'all can take your time reading this gargantuan chapter, lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With several bagged hangers draped over her arm and a garbage bag of loaned clothes hanging off her wrist, Marinette teeters into the foyer of the Agreste mansion. She’d forgotten to text Adrien when she left the bakery, so he’s nowhere to be seen—and Gabriel Agreste stands in the hall instead, hands clasped behind his back. Nathalie lurks off to the side, too, though her presence isn’t much comfort.</p><p>“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng,” Gabriel intones. “It’s been a while.”</p><p>“Y-yes,” Marinette says, straightening her posture. She hopes Gabriel isn’t thinking of the last time they stood like this, when Marinette returned the book that Lila stole from Adrien. “Thank you for having me over. I’m looking forward to the competition!”</p><p>“As am I,” Gabriel says, although it doesn’t seem like he looks forward to much of anything. “I was impressed by your submission. I trust that my son’s career will be enriched by spending time with you today?”</p><p>Marinette mentally translates the question: <em>You’re not going to waste Adrien’s time, are you?</em></p><p>“No—I mean, yes!” Marinette says. “I’m hoping to give him some insight into my designing process.”</p><p>“Good.” Gabriel nods, then begins walking toward his office. “You have two hours before you need to leave. Then Adrien needs to start his homework.”</p><p>“Of course,” Marinette says, and the office door clicks shut behind Gabriel. “Um, nice…speaking with you.”</p><p>Level tone, cold gaze, towering stature—is Gabriel always like that? Marinette’s stomach twists at the thought. She doesn’t want to think that a parent could be that detached around their child.</p><p>“Adrien is in his room,” Nathalie says. Marinette jumps; she’d forgotten Nathalie was there. “I can show you the way, since you haven’t—”</p><p>“Marinette!” an excited voice calls. A moment later, Adrien dashes around the corner of the upstairs landing and skids to a stop. “You’re here!”</p><p>“Adrien, keep your voice down,” Nathalie says, but there’s a small smile tugging at her lips. “Your father is working.”</p><p>“Oops,” Adrien says, quietly. “Sorry.”</p><p>“And don’t run around the house, especially when you’re not wearing shoes,” Nathalie says. “You could slip and fall.”</p><p>Marinette’s eyes fall to Adrien’s feet, which are clad in red socks with black spots. Ladybug-themed socks? They almost have to be.</p><p>She hopes no one questions the stupid grin on her face.  </p><p>“Right,” Adrien says. “I’ll be more careful.” He must not mean it, though, because he immediately runs down the stairs to meet Marinette. “Thanks, Nathalie! I’ll take it from here.” He wraps a hand around Marinette’s wrist, his fingers warm against her skin. “Come on! Let me show you my room.”</p><p>“Uh—clothes—” Marinette sputters, nodding to the bags heaped on her arms.</p><p>“Let me help!” Adrien takes the hangers from Marinette and drapes them over his arm. “Do you want me to get the bag, too?”</p><p>Marinette shakes her head. “I’m good.” The tight plastic loop is digging into her skin, but she’s not about to make Adrien carry everything for her.</p><p>“Great!” Adrien says, grabbing her free hand. “Let’s go.”</p><p>Marinette stumbles after Adrien as he yanks her up the stairs. Her conversation with Chat Noir echoes in her ears, and she frowns. Adrien doesn’t <em>seem </em>to be faking his enthusiasm; he sounds genuinely excited to work on the design with Marinette. Maybe Chat was wrong, after all.</p><p>Or maybe Adrien is only in a hurry because he wants to get this over with.</p><p>“So,” Adrien says, leading her into his room. “This is the first time I’ve had you over!”</p><p>“I guess it is!” Marinette says. Silently, she thinks of the few times she’s been here as Ladybug—including when she walked in on Adrien while he was showering, and told him that clothes were optional. “It’s, um—nice to finally see your room!”</p><p>“Is it?” Adrien says. “I mean, right! So…this is my room. I guess it’s not that impressive, now that I think about it. Your room is way more creative. I, um, didn’t really get to decorate, so it doesn’t really reflect my tastes. But there are lots of windows, which is good for—uh—stuff. Lighting stuff.”</p><p>Marinette glances around the room, absorbing its sheer size. When she’d been here as Ladybug, her sense of space had been skewed—any room feels small when she can swing across it in two seconds. Standing with Adrien now, though, she realizes just how large and empty it is.</p><p>“Do you think it’s tacky?” Adrien asks, wincing. “It’s kind of opulent. I mean, who needs arcade games and a basket ball hoop in their room? It feels more like a set for a photoshoot than a bedroom…which I guess makes sense, since I’m a model. But I’d rather have a bedroom that looks like a bedroom.”</p><p>Marinette blinks, her eyes stuck on the climbing wall across the room. Pointing, she asks, “Can you even use that?”</p><p>“Uh, no,” Adrien says. “So, my room is awful, right? You can say it. It feels like it’s trying too hard, which means that you’ll think <em>I’m </em>trying too hard, and—”</p><p>“No, no!” Marinette says, to stop Adrien’s rambling before he runs out of air. “It’s not tacky. I—I think the arcade games are really cool! How did you pick them?”</p><p>“I didn’t.”</p><p>“Oh.” Marinette cringes. “I like the rug by your desk, too! Abstract.”</p><p>“I’ll pass along your compliments to my father.”</p><p>Marinette feels her smile freeze in place. “The…pillows…look comfortable?”</p><p>Adrien grimaces. “Should I lie and tell you I picked them out?”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>“Thanks!” Adrien says, beaming. “I’m glad you like my taste in bedding.”</p><p>Marinette tries to laugh, but it comes out like a whimper. “Yeah.” She gives up on pretending to smile and asks, “Adrien, are you okay?”</p><p>“You said I could talk to you about my home life, right?” Adrien says. “It seems silly, but—my room is one of the things that bothers me.” Sighing, he runs his hand through his hair and ruffles it. The style reminds Marinette a bit of Chat’s messy locks. “I mean, why give me a big room with all this stuff if I’m hardly ever allowed to have friends over? It feels like a slap in the face.”</p><p>“Are you ever allowed to…to spend time with friends?”</p><p>“If I have a decent excuse,” Adrien says. “Like that time you and I practiced for the video game competition.” He snorts. “My ego still hasn’t recovered from that, by the way.”</p><p>Marinette growls. “I know you don’t want me to insult your father…”</p><p>Adrien raises an eyebrow, but he makes no attempt to stop her. Marinette wonders if he secretly <em>does </em>want her to insult Gabriel Agreste.</p><p>“But that’s really insensitive!” Marinette bursts out. “I mean, he locks you up here where no one can visit you, and makes you spend a bunch of time doing homework or sports or modeling or whatever, and—and—that’s not fair! You don’t deserve that.”</p><p><em>Adrien doesn’t have to be locked up here alone, </em>a stupid part of her brain says. <em>You could visit him as Ladybug.</em></p><p>Well, that’s a terrible idea. True, Chat Noir visits Marinette pretty often…but he’s <em>Chat. </em>Ladybug is supposed to be the responsible one! She can’t just go slipping through people’s windows at night.</p><p>Then again, Ladybug has met Adrien before. Would it really be strange if she stopped by to say hello?</p><p>“Yeah,” Adrien says. “Yeah, that’s—that’s pretty much it.” He sighs. “I didn’t want to say it myself, because…well, I’m pretty privileged. Most people would love to be ‘stuck’ in a room like this. But if you agree…”</p><p>“I do.” Marinette tentatively touches Adrien’s arm, ignoring how the bag looped over her other wrist is starting to cut off circulation. “And you’re allowed to say that. Okay?”</p><p>Avoiding her eyes, Adrien nods. “Okay.”</p><p>“Now,” Marinette says. “Let’s see this impressive closet of yours, hm?”</p><p>“R-right,” Adrien says. He leads her past the bathroom, to a door Marinette never noticed during her visits as Ladybug. “Here it is.”</p><p>Adrien opens the door, and Marinette nearly drops her garbage bag.</p><p>Rows upon rows of clothing greet her: different shades, different styles, almost like a miniature clothing store. Shelves are stacked full of accessories, sparkling and shimmering and glittering, so many pieces that Marinette’s vision begins to swim.</p><p>“So,” Adrien says, “you can take anything from the left side. My Gabriel clothes are on the right, and since it’s a Gabriel contest, you should probably try to avoid any accidental influence.”</p><p>Marinette’s eyes widen. “Th-this—this is all <em>non</em>-Gabriel stuff?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Adrien says, the corner of his lips uplifted. “Sorry. I know there isn’t much left.”</p><p>Marinette shifts from one foot to another, barely resisting the urge to run into the closet and rifle through Adrien’s clothes. She doesn’t want Adrien to think that she finds his clothes more interesting than him. “So, why do you have so much non-Gabriel stuff?”</p><p>“We sometimes collaborate with other brands,” Adrien says. “I have more clothes than I know what to do with. And of course, I keep having growth spurts, so I probably don’t fit most of this stuff anymore…” He folds his arms, grinning. “But you already knew about the collaborations, right? I know you’ve seen the magazines.”</p><p>“Oh, w-well—yes,” Marinette says. Teeth gritted, she recalls the time Adrien saw all her pictures of him on live television. “For research purposes! Because I…research fashion.”  </p><p>Adrien frowns. “You don’t do it to support me?”</p><p>“What?” Marinette exclaims. “Of course I do! I also read the magazines to look at you—I mean, to support you—by looking at you—but, um…”</p><p>She trails off when Adrien starts laughing. “I’m kidding,” he says. “I don’t care why you look at my photos, or why you hang them on your walls. I think it’s sweet.”</p><p>Marinette’s face flushes. Adrien thinks she’s sweet? He doesn’t find her creepy or weird?</p><p>Awkwardly gesturing to the closet, she asks, “Can I look?”</p><p>“Of course,” Adrien says. “You don’t need to hold back.”</p><p><em>Neither do you, </em>Marinette wants to say, but the time for serious conversations has moved on.</p><p>She untwists the bag from around her wrist and sets it down, then creeps further into the closet. Her fingers hover centimeters from the clothes, and she’s itching to touch—to feel the different textures, and admire the handiwork—but she feels like she probably shouldn’t grope Adrien’s clothes.</p><p>Clothes that have been on Adrien’s body. Does that mean she’d be groping Adrien, in a weird metaphysical way?</p><p>“You can touch,” Adrien says. “This isn’t a museum.”</p><p>“It feels like one,” Marinette murmurs. Frowning, she tugs on a neon yellow suitcoat. “What—”</p><p>“No,” Adrien says. “If I was allowed to burn clothes, that would be the first thing I set on fire.”</p><p>“But what is it <em>from?” </em></p><p>“I don’t know,” Adrien says. “I’ve repressed that memory. But I don’t want to wear something that makes me look like a banana ever again.”</p><p>Marinette giggles as she lets go of the suit. “There goes my plan for a banana costume.”</p><p>“Marinette,” Adrien says, his tone suddenly solemn. Taking one of her hands, he continues, “We’re friends, so I need to be honest with you.”</p><p>“Y-yes?” Marinette says.</p><p>Her mind races with possibilities. She’s reminded of the night before, when the smile slipped off Chat’s face, and it looked like he was about to kiss her.</p><p>
  <em>No! Don’t think about that!</em>
</p><p>But is that what’s happening now? Is Adrien about to confess to her? No, impossible. He doesn’t like Marinette that way.</p><p>“If you ever try to make me wear a banana suit,” Adrien says, succinctly pronouncing each word, “I will drop out of the competition and never model for you again.”</p><p>Marinette snorts at the unexpected declaration. “What about other fruits? Are those on the table?”</p><p>“No,” Adrien deadpans.</p><p>“Really?” Marinette says. “Isn’t that where the fruit bowl goes?”</p><p>“Where the…” Adrien’s eyes widen. “Did you just pun?”</p><p>“I tried.”</p><p>Adrien presses a hand to his chest and sighs. “A girl after my own heart,” he says, staring dreamily into the distance. “But, no. I will never wear fruit-themed clothing. Not even for you.”</p><p>“And yet, you said you’d be my model until the end of time.” Marinette taps her chin. “Is Adrien Agreste not a man of his word?”</p><p>“If you don’t want to lose me,” Adrien says, “just avoid fruit-themed suits.”  </p><p>“You’re stifling my creativity,” Marinette says. She folds her arms and tilts her chin up, looking away. “I don’t think I can work with this many restrictions. It’s outrageous.”</p><p>“Oh, now, we can’t have that.” Humming, Adrien slinks around to Marinette’s other side so that he’s back in her field of vision. “Can I make it up to you somehow? Maybe coffee? Lunch?”</p><p>“Trying to bribe me with food?” Marinette says. “I don’t think so.”</p><p>“There must be something.”</p><p>Marinette’s eyes flick down to the garish yellow suit, and a smirk tugs at her lips. “Oh, I think there is.”</p><p>“Anything,” Adrien says. He leans closer, his lips far too close to her cheek. “Say the word, and—”</p><p>“That,” Marinette says, pointing to the yellow suit. “Put that on. I want to see it.”</p><p>“Why do you want me to suffer?”</p><p>“I don’t,” Marinette says innocently, as she removes the hanger from the rack. “Bright yellow makes people happy. That’s basic color theory.” She flicks one of her pigtails over her shoulder. “Which I know, since I’m a designer.”</p><p>Adrien glares, and the exasperation in his eyes reminds Marinette of Chat’s face whenever she uses him as bait during an akuma attack. “And once I put on the suit, then what?”</p><p>Marinette pats her pocket where her phone is stowed. “Pictures for Alya and Nino. And I’ll forgive you for stifling my creativity.”</p><p>“Fine.” Adrien takes the yellow suit from her, along with the pants on a separate hanger. “But only because you’re cute.”</p><p>Marinette feels like she’s just been buried in an avalanche of accessories. “B-because I’m…what?”</p><p>“Your clothes!” Adrien says. “Your clothes…that you design are cute. And if I have to wear this yellow monstrosity to inspire you, so be it.”</p><p>“Right,” Marinette says, squinting at him. Did Adrien just call her cute, or did he misspeak?</p><p>Adrien’s eyes flick toward the door of the closet. “Are you going to leave?”</p><p>Marinette steps forward and touches Adrien’s arm, the fabric of the suit brushing her skin. She knows that he sometimes doubts whether people want to be his friend—whether they’ll stick around—and she doesn’t want him to worry about that.</p><p>“Adrien,” she says, and his brow furrows. “I’m never going to walk out on you. We’re friends. So even if you said something that bothered me, I’d never abandon you. I’m staying, no matter what.”</p><p>Adrien tilts his head to the side. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, and it seems like he’s having trouble finding the right words. That makes sense, though; Adrien still isn’t used to expressing his insecurities.</p><p>“Is that okay?” Marinette asks softly.</p><p>“Um, yeah,” Adrien says. “I mean, if you’re comfortable standing here while I strip to my underwear…?”</p><p>Marinette’s mind short-circuits upon hearing the words <em>my underwear </em>from Adrien’s beautiful lips. “What?” she screeches. “I—what does stripping have to do with this?”</p><p>Frowning, Adrien holds up the suit. “I need to get changed into this?”</p><p>“But—but you asked if I was going to leave you!”</p><p>“Right,” Adrien says. “I was asking you to leave the closet so that I can get undressed.”</p><p>Marinette groans, too embarrassed for words. How could she have misunderstood things so badly? She thought she was finally learning how to talk to Adrien—and instead, she responded to <em>can I get naked now </em>with a heartfelt pledge of friendship.</p><p>“Well,” Adrien says, setting the hangers on a rack in the middle of the room. He grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs it upward. “I guess you <em>are </em>a professional, so you probably don’t mind if—”</p><p>“No!” Marinette yells, throwing her hands forward to cover the sight of his shirtless torso. “No, I—wait—”</p><p>Adrien freezes, his head stuck in the fabric of his shirt. “Marinette?” he says, voice cracking. “Why are you touching my chest?”</p><p>“I’m not,” Marinette says. “I’m shielding my…eyes…”</p><p>With horror, she realizes that in her attempt to protect herself from Adrien’s (golden, smooth, toned) chest, she did not cover her eyes. Instead, apparently, she planted her palms against his naked pecs.</p><p>Marinette’s muscles lock into place, her hands frozen to Adrien’s skin. He’s so warm—but of course he is. He’s a human being, not a plastic mannequin.</p><p>Adrien laughs, his chest vibrating beneath Marinette’s fingers. “Well, that may be,” he says. “But it kind of feels more like you’re shielding my nipples.”</p><p>His words shock Marinette out of her stupor. She snatches her hands back from his chest and hides her face in them—and then she yanks her hands away with a shriek, because those hands were on Adrien’s <em>chest </em>and she put them on her <em>face </em>which means <em>Adrien’s chest is on her face—</em></p><p>“Marinette,” Adrien says. His hands grip her forearms, but she doesn’t see him; her eyes are squeezed shut, her breaths coming a bit too fast. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” she says, teeth gritted. “Just an idiot. First I completely misunderstood you, and then I accidentally groped you—”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Adrien says. “It was an accident. I misunderstood, too, you know. I should have realized you wouldn’t be comfortable with me taking my shirt off.”</p><p>“Have you put it back on?” Marinette asks, eyes still closed.</p><p>Adrien clears his throat. “I kind of threw it across the room, actually?”</p><p>“You were that enthusiastic about stripping?”</p><p>“No,” Adrien says, laughing. “I was worried about you, so I threw it without thinking. You seemed like you were panicking a little.”</p><p>Marinette takes a deep breath, then exhales. “I’m just—you know, with the pictures in my room, and—I don’t want you to think I’m a creepy girl who’s trying to feel you up.”</p><p>“I would never think that,” Adrien says. “Are you okay, though?”</p><p>“I’m fine!” Marinette says. “In fact, I’ve already forgotten about it.”</p><p>That’s a lie, though. The feeling of Adrien’s firm chest beneath her fingers is permanently etched into her memory, and she’s pretty sure she can still see the outline of his torso with her eyes closed.</p><p>“That’s a shame,” Adrien says. “I was hoping my bare chest would leave more of a lasting im-<em>peau-</em>ssion.”</p><p>Marinette opens her eyes to glare at him. “Are you making puns about my embarrassment?”</p><p>Adrien grins. “Just lightening the mood.”</p><p>Despite her efforts, Marinette finds her eyes flicking down to Adrien’s torso. His arms are folded across his chest, hiding his pecs from view—which is good, since those are potent and could induce heart attacks. But the rest of his torso is still uncovered, meaning Marinette can see his toned stomach and slender waist.</p><p>And, of course, she can see the underwear band peeking over the top of his jeans, which reads AGRESTE.</p><p>“Well,” Adrien says, “I guess I don’t have to undress myself, since you’re doing that with your eyes.”</p><p>Marinette’s eyes snap back to Adrien’s face. “I—I wasn’t—no! I was just thinking…um…why don’t your underwear say GABRIEL?”</p><p>Adrien raises an eyebrow. “Would <em>you </em>want to wear underwear with your father’s first name on them?”</p><p>“Uh, no,” Marinette says, suppressing a shudder. “That’s a no.”</p><p>“Anyway,” Adrien says. “I do need to get changed now, which means my pants are coming off…oh, sometime in the next ten seconds.”</p><p>Like a threat, he reaches down and pops the button of his jeans.</p><p>Marinette yelps. “I’ll wait outside!”</p><p>With one last glance at the AGRESTE printed on his hips, Marinette scrambles out of the closet and slams the door shut behind her.</p><p>Eyes shut, she leans against the door and feels her heart thud quickly in her chest.</p><p>It almost seemed like Adrien <em>enjoyed </em>making Marinette flustered. And it could just be that he’s feeding his low self-esteem, but—well, it also felt a bit like flirting.</p><p>Adrien, flirting with her?</p><p>That can’t be right. Adrien has his two mystery crushes. Unless he’s secretly a massive flirt—which feels wrong—he wouldn’t flirt with Marinette when he likes other people.</p><p>Marinette is the same way. Even if her eyes wander sometimes, she only flirts with Adrien. And sure, she sometimes teases Chat, but that’s different. She isn’t trying to woo him.</p><p>Heart still thumping, Marinette stares at the windows of Adrien’s room. She half-expects to see Chat outside, summoned by Marinette’s thoughts of him.</p><p>“I don’t flirt with Chat,” Marinette mutters.</p><p>Tikki’s antennae poke out of the purse strapped at Marinette’s side. “You don’t?”</p><p>Marinette glares at Tikki. “No! It…it’s just teasing.”</p><p>Frowning, Tikki says, “Is that why you two tried to kiss each other last night?”</p><p>“What!” Marinette exclaims. “That’s not what—”</p><p>Suddenly, the door opens behind her—and with nothing to support her weight, Marinette falls backwards into the closet.</p><p>“Careful!” Adrien’s voice says.</p><p>Marinette’s back hits something solid that isn’t the ground, and she feels arms wrap around her waist, keeping her from falling any further.</p><p>“Looks like I’m not the only one who leans against unstable things,” Adrien says.</p><p>“Is this revenge for the pushcart?” Marinette asks.</p><p>“No,” Adrien says. “This was an accident. I can think of several ways to get you in my arms, but none of them involve knocking you over.”</p><p>Sirens blare in Marinette’s mind, screaming, <em>Flirt! He’s a flirt!</em></p><p>And so, Marinette does what Ladybug used to do whenever Chat tried to flirt with her: she defuses the situation. </p><p>Smirking, Marinette lets her body go limp, instantly becoming dead weight in Adrien’s arms.</p><p>Adrien grunts and stubbornly hangs onto her. “Why are you making yourself <em>heavier?”</em></p><p>“Trust fall,” Marinette says cheekily.</p><p>Groaning, Adrien lowers her to the ground. “It’s hard to sweep you off your feet when you’re dead weight.”</p><p>“I don’t know why you’re trying to sweep me off my feet,” Marinette says. She stands and turns to face him, dusting herself off. “We’re here to…oh, no.” She covers her mouth and tries to hold back a snort. “That’s…”</p><p>Standing before her is Adrien Agreste, celebrity teen model, clad in a yellow abomination that no human being should have to wear.</p><p>For one thing, it doesn’t even fit him. The sleeves are short, showing off too much of his shirt cuffs, and the hem of the suitcoat doesn’t fall past his waist. The pants have the same problem, ending several centimeters above his shoes. (At least they show off his Ladybug socks, which are the only good thing about his outfit.)</p><p>And the color is hideous.</p><p>Neon yellow is not Adrien’s color. The color clashes horribly with his hair, dulls his bright green eyes, and drowns out the golden undertone of his skin. It’s like he’s wrapped up in loud yellow caution tape warning no designer to <em>ever </em>use this color on him.</p><p>The suit itself seems well-made, and of course Adrien is as handsome as ever—but Marinette has never seen him look this bad.</p><p>“Well,” Marinette says. “I guess you can’t make everything look good, after all.”</p><p>Adrien scowls and crosses his arms. Marinette watches as the fabric bunches tightly, threatening to tear from the strain. “This doesn’t fit me,” he says. “And yellow isn’t my color. I look better in blue. And pink. And black. And literally every other color.”</p><p>“I can see that.”  Despite Marinette’s best efforts, a laugh bubbles from her lips. “You look impressively bad.”</p><p>Scowl deepening, Adrien looks away. “I get it. I look awful. Can we move on?”</p><p>Marinette’s laughter immediately disappears. Is Adrien…mad?</p><p>“Adrien, I was kidding!” she says. “It’s the suit’s fault, not yours.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Adrien still won’t look at her.</p><p>“Can…can you talk to me?” Marinette asks. She’s never seen Adrien act like this; the scowl seems completely foreign on his face. “What’s wrong? It’s okay to tell me.”</p><p>Adrien huffs. “Nothing. I’m being overemotional.”</p><p>The words seem unnatural in Adrien’s mouth—too harsh, too dismissive. More like something Gabriel would say.</p><p>“Did your father tell you that?” Marinette asks. “Because that’s not right. Everyone gets upset sometimes.” Adrien doesn’t respond, so she adds, “Listen. I’m your friend, and I care about you, so I want to know if something is upsetting you.”</p><p>“It’s stupid,” Adrien grumbles.</p><p>“No, it’s not.”</p><p>Adrien sighs, then says, “Fine. It’s just—I wanted to look good for you, not wear an ugly suit and get laughed at.”</p><p><em>That’s it? </em>Marinette almost says. <em>You’re upset that you look bad?</em></p><p>But no, it’s more than that. Adrien looks like he wants to disappear into the folds of his suit; even now, he still won’t meet Marinette’s eyes. His cheeks are ruddy, shoulders hunched, arms hugged tight to himself. </p><p>Suddenly, like a Lucky Charm solution, it clicks. Adrien’s concern about whether Marinette likes his room, or whether she thinks he looks good—he’s trying to impress her.</p><p>“Adrien,” Marinette says.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Adrien says. “Sorry. I don’t want to make you upset.”</p><p>“I’m not.” Marinette takes a deep breath, and then—like swinging into battle—she reaches down and takes his hand, feeling the cold metal of his ring against her skin. “Adrien, you don’t have anything to prove to me. I don’t care if you look perfect or have a nice room. Um, d-do—do you know what makes you look good to me?”</p><p>Adrien glances at her from the corner of his eye. “Your vision?”</p><p>“No,” Marinette says. “It’s your kindness, and your bravery, and your sense of humor, and—and the fact that you’re human, not an airbrushed picture in a magazine.”</p><p>“You mean flawed?”</p><p>“That’s exactly what I mean,” Marinette snaps.</p><p>“How exactly is this supposed to make me feel better about myself?” </p><p>“Because…” Marinette’s stomach flutters nervously, but she forges on. Just like a battle, she can’t back down. “You do look good to me. I’m not going to think less of you because you wore an ugly yellow suit.” She smiles at him, even though he’s not looking at her. “And if you’re really so worried, you have two hours to try on clothes that make you look incredible.”</p><p>Finally, Adrien’s eyes meet hers. They shine in the bright lights, and Marinette thinks there might be tears refusing to fall—but that’s all she sees before Adrien surges forward and wraps his arms around her.</p><p>“Sorry,” Adrien says, his breath puffing against her shoulder. “I should have asked first.”</p><p>Stunned, Marinette returns the hug. “It—it’s fine.”</p><p>“I’m still not good at this,” Adrien murmurs.</p><p>“Hugging?”</p><p>“Being friends with people,” Adrien says. “I feel like I can’t let my guard down. Like if I don’t act the way everyone expects me to, they’ll stop liking me. And I know that if someone doesn’t like me for who I am, then they’re not really my friend, but…”</p><p>Marinette waits, silently urging him on.</p><p>“You said you’re my friend,” Adrien says, voice small. “But what if you learn something about me that you don’t like? Then you’ll feel obligated to stay, even though you want to leave.”</p><p>Marinette wraps her arms more tightly around Adrien. She doesn’t know how to convince him that she’ll stay; his insecurities run too deep for a hug and some reassuring words to fix them.</p><p>But Marinette’s a fixer. Whether it takes a few days, or months, or even years to help Adrien, she’s going to.</p><p>She inhales deeply, channeling the confidence she summoned that first day she confronted Le Papillon’s visage. “Adrien.” He hums. “I don’t know how to make you believe this, but I want to be your friend.” For so long, those words had been hard to say—but now, finally, they roll off Marinette’s tongue. “And you know, you don’t know everything about <em>me. </em>Will you stop being friends with me, when you find out those things?” </p><p>“What?” Adrien says. He pulls back from the hug, hands gripping Marinette’s arms. “Of course not. Being your friend means the world to me, Marinette. I wouldn’t give that up for anything.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Marinette says. It’s a struggle to maintain her business-like tone, when her face is warming with a blush. “So can you understand that I feel the same way? A few little things aren’t going to scare me off.”</p><p>“What if they’re not little things?”</p><p>“We’ll deal with them,” Marinette assures him. “Just like fighting akumas.”</p><p>“What?” Adrien asks, his features contorting. “Wait, what—did you just say…um…”</p><p>Belatedly, Marinette realizes that she can’t casually reference her superhero side gig like that. “I <em>mean,” </em>she says, drawing out the word as she thinks, “that no matter how big the problem is, we’ll find the source, free the unpleasantness, and…”</p><p>“Trap it in a magic yo-yo?”</p><p>“Okay,” Marinette says. “So maybe my metaphors are lacking.”</p><p>Adrien’s teeth peek out in a smile. “Maybe a little.”</p><p>In that moment, standing close to Adrien, staring at his fledgling smile, Marinette is overcome with a warmth she can’t name. She’s not tempted to kiss him, or ask him out, or confess her love—but it’s something just as strong, glowing inside her.</p><p>“We should get to work,” Marinette says, taking a step back. “You can change out of that, and then I’ll search your closet for some pieces.”</p><p>“Didn’t you want to take a picture for Alya and Nino?”</p><p>“Not if the suit makes you upset.”</p><p>“I don’t mind sending them a picture,” Adrien says. “I’m sure they’ll get a kick out of seeing how hideous it is.”</p><p>“Alright.” Marinette hesitantly gets out her phone. “Strike your best pose, hot model.”</p><p>Laughing, Adrien drops into a low squat—Marinette thinks it’s called a horse stance—and places his hands on his hips. To complete the look, he tilts his head and sticks his tongue out, his eyes raised toward the ceiling.</p><p>“Ho’th thith?” he asks, which sounds like <em>how’s this?</em></p><p>Marinette’s phone shakes in her hands as she laughs. “Perfect,” she says, tapping the camera button a few times. “Now I see why they say that you’re one of the hottest models in Paris.”</p><p>“Did you ever doubt it?” Adrien asks, winking.</p><p>He drops into a lower stance, and Marinette’s ears shudder at the tell-tale sound of fabric ripping.</p><p>“Kill me,” Adrien mutters.</p><p>Marinette tries. Valiantly. She does her absolute best to keep a straight face—and she succeeds for about four seconds.</p><p>Then she bursts out laughing. “I—I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s just—you said you wanted to destroy the suit, so it looks like you got your wish.”</p><p>Adrien groans. Turning his back to her, he asks, “How bad?”</p><p>Marinette snorts at the strip of cerulean showing through the yellow fabric. “That’s a nice shade of blue.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Adrien says drily. “It’s my favorite color.”</p><p>“We should probably get you out of that suit now.”</p><p>“Definitely.”</p><p>“Do you need help?”</p><p>Adrien glares at her over his shoulder.</p><p>Giggling, Marinette says, “I’ll wait outside.”</p><p>A minute later, Adrien opens the door clad in a t-shirt and jeans. He holds up a hanger with the yellow pants draped over it. “I don’t suppose you know how to fix these?”</p><p>Marinette pinches the fabric and rubs it between her fingers. “What’s the point in fixing them, if they don’t fit anymore?”</p><p>“I don’t want my father to be angry,” Adrien says. “On a bad day, that’s the sort of thing he’d use to punish me.” Marinette’s mouth opens, ready to spew angry words, but Adrien hastily adds, “I know that’s not okay. I don’t want to talk about it right now. But, well—can you fix them?” He grimaces, cheeks pink. “I can’t believe I ripped them.”</p><p>“I think so,” Marinette says. “Out of curiosity, how much did these cost?”</p><p>“Technically, they were free,” Adrien says. “But I think they sold for…maybe six hundred euros? The whole suit was somewhere between one and two thousand.”</p><p>Marinette snatches her hand away. She can’t help but think of the thousand-euro burgundy jacket Chat left at her place—and of course, that means she’s thinking of Chat now, and how handsome he looked in that suit, and how she really wouldn’t mind seeing him in formalwear again.</p><p>“You don’t have to fix them,” Adrien says. “I’ll just tell Nathalie what happened.”</p><p>“No, no!” Marinette says. “I mean, I can try, at least. Just leave them by the door, and I’ll sneak them home.”</p><p>“Thanks, Marinette,” Adrien says, grinning. His smile is radiant, and Marinette thinks that no one should be that happy about ugly yellow pants. “You’re phenomenal.”</p><p>“Oh, um…I’m not that special,” Marinette says. “But enough about me! Now it’s time to work.”</p><p>Adrien nudges the garbage bag full of donated clothes with his foot. “What do we have here?”</p><p>“Clothes.” Marinette drags the bag over to Adrien’s couch and begins draping items over the back: a floral-print scarf from Rose, a track jacket from Kim, an emerald skirt that an out-of-touch relative gave Alix.</p><p>Adrien toys with the hem of the skirt. “Adventurous.”</p><p>“Is that okay?” Marinette asks.</p><p>“What?” Adrien says. His brow scrunches. “The skirt? Why wouldn’t it be?”</p><p>“Just making sure!” Marinette says. “I know the clothes you model for your father are more traditional, so…”</p><p>“Well,” Adrien says, leaning closer. “I’m not modeling for my father right now, am I?”</p><p>Marinette glances at Adrien’s face, then his legs, then the skirt. She thinks she may have played herself. “Um. Well. No.”</p><p>“What else do we have?” Adrien asks.</p><p>Crouching, he pulls another item from the bag, and Marinette instantly recognizes the geometric pattern and silk-like fabric. “That’s Alya’s.”</p><p>“I thought it looked familiar,” Adrien says. “Orange and red aren’t really my colors, but the loose sleeves are cool.”</p><p>“Right?” Marinette takes the top from Adrien and lays it down on top of the green skirt, trying not to shudder at how the fiery colors clash with the emerald. “When I saw that shirt, I got thinking—usually, with a figure like yours, the idea is to go with something snug, highlight your muscles and slim frame. And I’ll still do that, but the potential contrast with part of the outfit being loose and flowy…” Marinette trails off, face heating. “Sorry! Ignore me. I tend to ramble about this stuff.” </p><p>“No, keep going,” Adrien says, smiling up at her. “I like hearing you talk about fashion.”</p><p>“Really?” Marinette says. “I would think you’d be sick of hearing about it.”</p><p>“Kind of.” Adrien shifts so that he’s sitting cross-legged, then reaches into the bag again. “But it’s different with you.”</p><p>“Maybe because I’m an amateur?” Marinette ventures. “I guess I don’t talk like the big-name designers do. I mean, I read tons of blogs and interviews, and I try to learn theory, but…well. I don’t feel like I know what I’m doing.”</p><p>“What?” Adrien says. He scowls at the brown cardigan in his hands, and Marinette wonders if his <em>what </em>is directed at her, or the sweater. “Marinette, no. I like hearing you talk about your passion. It’s inspiring, and—well, it makes me smile.” He hands her the cardigan, his fingers brushing hers as he does. “And you’re so creative. You notice things I don’t, and the things I do notice, you see in a different way. I love hearing your perspective.”</p><p>“I doubt my perspective’s that interesting,” Marinette says.</p><p>She doesn’t quite mean it; she knows her Ladybug eyes have solved many an art project and Lucky Charm. Around Adrien, though, Marinette is always afraid to sound haughty.</p><p>Adrien <em>oohs </em>as he grabs a lavender scarf with lace appliqued on it. “This is pretty,” he says. “And Marinette, you don’t need to act humble. We both know you’re talented.”</p><p>Marinette’s cheeks burn. “I guess I’ve got some creativity.”</p><p>“Yeah. Some.” Snorting, Adrien hands her the scarf and goes back to fishing garments from the bag.</p><p>They spend the next few minutes spreading out clothes from the bag. Occasionally, Marinette comments on why she likes a particular piece, or how she thinks she could use it—and Adrien never seems bored when she talks, even when she rambles so much that she runs out of breath.</p><p>Eventually, the couch is covered with clothes, and they’re forced to lay the remaining pieces on the bed.</p><p>“You know,” Adrien says, setting down a lace crop top. “You could probably fill a small boutique with these clothes.”</p><p>Marinette snaps a light pink shawl at him. “No complaining if you want me to design you something nice.”</p><p>“Not complaining,” Adrien says, holding up his hands. “Just observing.”</p><p>With the garbage bag emptied, Marinette wanders back to the bagged hangers she left in Adrien’s closet. She unwraps the first one, revealing a faux leather jacket she found at the mall.</p><p>“Now,” Marinette says, letting the plastic flutter to the ground. “Like I said, I had to buy a few things I couldn’t find in our friends’ closets.” She shakes her head. “Can you believe Luka doesn’t own a leather jacket?”</p><p>“Luka Couffaine?” Adrien repeats, eyebrows raised. <em>“Luka Couffaine </em>doesn’t own a leather jacket?”</p><p>“I know!” Marinette says. “I thought that would be an easy item to find in his closet!”</p><p>“Actually, it’s probably better if he doesn’t have one,” Adrien says. “If Luka wore leather, I’d definitely swoon in front of him.”</p><p>Marinette laughs. “Are you <em>sure </em>he’s not your blue-eyed crush?”</p><p>Avoiding Marinette’s eyes, Adrien fiddles with a zipper on the leather jacket. “I’m sure.”</p><p>Suddenly, Marinette realizes how horribly tactless she’s being. Just because Adrien has hinted that he likes guys, that doesn’t mean he’s comfortable with openly talking about it. “I’m so sorry!” she says. “I shouldn’t pry. I would never force you to talk about something like that—”</p><p>“Marinette,” Adrien says, laughing. “You’re not forcing anything out of me. Luka’s not the crush I was talking about.” He reaches up inside one of the bagged hangers, gently easing the hook down through the bag. “I mean, I find him attractive, and I’ve always had a bit of a crush on him. But there’s someone else I like a lot more.”</p><p>Marinette watches as Adrien places the hanger back on the rack and sets the bag aside. “So it’s not—” She clamps her mouth shut. “I’ll stop.”</p><p>Adrien pauses, fingers hovering over the final plastic bag. “It’s not what?”</p><p>“I’ll get that,” Marinette says. She pushes in front of him and reaches under the plastic to grab the hanger. “I—um, honestly, I always assumed your mystery crush was Kagami, since you took her on that double date. But she doesn’t have blue eyes, and, uh…apparently both the people you like do.”</p><p>“I don’t like Kagami that way.”</p><p>“Oh,” Marinette says. A small part of her feels bad for Kagami, but she’s mostly just relieved. “That’s…too bad.”</p><p>“Is it really?” Adrien asks.</p><p>There’s something in his words—some warmth, some <em>heat—</em>that makes Marinette’s fingers go lax around the hanger. It drops to the ground, the plastic bag pooling around it.</p><p>“Oops!” Marinette yelps. “I’ll get that.”</p><p>She crouches down, and Adrien’s hand appears on the ground in front of her, fingers wrapping around the hanger. He’s still behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his outstretched arm grazing her side. Everywhere he touches her, Marinette feels like her skin is vibrating.</p><p>“Sorry,” Adrien murmurs, breath tickling her ear. “I—sorry.”</p><p>He doesn’t move away, though.</p><p>“I’ve got it,” Marinette says. She reaches forward and takes the hanger from Adrien. “Thanks!”</p><p>Blushing, she stands and places the hanger back on the rack, then quickly removes the plastic bag. Adrien waits off to the side, rubbing his neck while pink spreads across his cheeks.</p><p>Then Marinette takes a step back and surveys the three pieces she bought from the store: a black leather jacket, a lace long-sleeved shirt with sheer sections, and a pair of black skinny jeans. She’s hoping she can find everything else she needs in Adrien’s closet. </p><p>Banishing thoughts of Adrien’s mystery crushes, Marinette focuses on the clothes instead, searching for pieces she wants to use. Occasionally, whenever she inspects an article of clothing, Adrien shares funny stories or insight from the designers. He tells her how he nearly sneezed all over a navy suit because some big-shot insisted on having their pet bird on set, and how the erratic stitched pattern on one shirt was inspired by a drawing the designer’s two year-old made.</p><p>“That’s adorable,” Marinette coos, running her fingers along the stitching.</p><p>“Right?” Adrien says. “Actually, I could kind of see you doing something like that.”</p><p>Marinette raises an eyebrow. “You imagine my future kids?”</p><p>Shrugging, Adrien drags Marinette to another part of the closet.</p><p>At one point, Marinette wanders too close to the Gabriel section. She’s just barely touched one of the suitcoats when Adrien inserts himself between her and the clothes, wagging a finger.</p><p>“Ah, ah,” he says, smiling. “No accidental influence, remember?”</p><p>“Right.” Hands on her hips, Marinette glances over the clothes she’s moved to the rack in the center of the room. “Alright. I think I’ve got everything I need. Ready to start modeling?”</p><p>Adrien gives a tiny salute. “Ready! Oh, and that reminds me.” He darts to the corner of the closet and drags out something that looks like a folding screen. “I can use this to change in my room.”</p><p>Marinette squints at the screen. “Why didn’t you use that earlier, instead of stripping in front of me?”</p><p>“I forgot,” Adrien says, face red. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Or maybe you just wanted to show off.”</p><p>“Wh-what! No, of course not. It’s not like I <em>wanted </em>you to see me shirtless. I mean, not that I mind, but—”</p><p>“Okay!” Marinette says. She rolls the clothes rack toward the closet door. “Grab that screen, and let’s get started.”</p><p>The next hour is a blur of clothes. Marinette plucks up pieces and accessories and shoves them into Adrien’s hands, instructing him on how to wear them—<em>scarf unknotted, jacket unzipped, shirt tucked in. </em>Sometimes, the moment Adrien emerges from behind the screen, Marinette snatches an accessory off him and replaces it with a similar one. (“Please don’t do that if you hate the pants,” Adrien says, rubbing his neck after Marinette whips a scarf off him.)</p><p>Other times, it takes Marinette longer to realize that a combination isn’t right, because Adrien wears everything so well<em>. </em>He could make a brown paper bag look sexy, if he tried.</p><p>For successful combinations, Marinette takes pictures with her phone to use as design references late, and sometimes, she stops to jot down something in her sketchbook—but for the most part, it’s a steady stream of throwing clothes at Adrien and taking pictures of him.</p><p>She feels a bit guilty about that. Although Adrien doesn’t seem to be suffering, he might have hoped that this would be a little less work.</p><p>About an hour in, Adrien trudges out from behind the screen in a white collared shirt and Alix’s green skirt. “I feel like I’m in gym class,” he says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s like a marath—”</p><p>“Stop moving,” Marinette says, and Adrien drops his arms to his side. “Turn to the left?”</p><p>Adrien complies, skirt hem swishing as he does. “I’m not really sure if I have the legs for this.”</p><p>“You <em>definitely </em>have the legs for this,” Marinette says, trying to ignore Adrien’s toned calves. The skirt hits far past his knee, but there’s just enough leg to fluster her if she isn’t careful. “Hm. I’m not really planning to put you in a skirt, but I like how the asymmetrical hem shapes your legs. I might be able to mimic that in pants somehow.” She snaps a few photos on her phone. “Can you lift the skirt up to your thigh on one leg?”</p><p>Adrien nods and does. Instantly, the lines and folds of the skirt change, creating a new shape.</p><p>“Great.” Marinette takes a few more pictures. “Now do a twirl?”</p><p>Frowning, Adrien spins in a circle, making the skirt fan out. “What’s the point of a twirl?”</p><p>“Oh, there isn’t one,” Marinette says. “It’s just fun.” She grabs the pair of skinny jeans next, along with Alya’s geometric top. “You look really good, by the way. If you ever want to change up your wardrobe, I bet Alix would be happy to donate that skirt.”</p><p>Adrien peers down at the skirt, pinching the fabric with his fingers. “Are you sure she won’t mind? I don’t know if my father would let me wear this, but—”</p><p>“It’s yours,” Marinette says. She hands him the pants and shirt. “Try these?”</p><p>Nodding, Adrien disappears behind the screen again, and Marinette writes down a few notes in her sketchbook.</p><p>A moment later, Adrien steps out in the new outfit. “You know,” he says, pointing to the plunging V-neck that just barely excludes his nipples. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to wear a camisole or something under this.”</p><p>“If you were going out in public, yes,” Marinette says. “But the neckline isn’t what I’m looking at right now.”</p><p>Humming, she circles Adrien while he stands dutifully still. He’s right: orange and red aren’t his colors, although the bits of navy blue scattered throughout the shirt look fine with his hair and skin. Marinette doesn’t care about the colors, though—it’s the sleeves she’s interested in.</p><p>“Lift your arms?” Marinette says. Adrien raises his arms, and Marinette watches as the flowy sleeves hang down, almost creating the effect of wings. “Kind of like a flying squirrel…”</p><p>“Wait, did you just compare me to a squirrel?”</p><p>“Squirrels are cute.” Marinette hesitantly reaches toward Adrien’s arm. “May I?”</p><p>He nods, and she pushes the edge of the sleeve up Adrien’s arm. The long sleeves swallow him up, but if she moved them higher…</p><p>“Hold this?” Marinette asks, pointing to where her fingers are pinning the fabric.</p><p>Adrien presses his fingers to the spot, holding the fabric in place while Marinette digs through her purse for safety pins. She slips them through the fabric to pin it, then steps back to observe her handiwork.</p><p>“Okay,” she says. “Let me see how that sleeve looks.”</p><p>Adrien moves his arm through a variety of positions, allowing Marinette to see how the fabric falls. Marinette snaps a few pictures, then pins the sleeve again, this time just above the elbow. Once again, Adrien goes through the motions so that Marinette can take pictures. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Marinette says, lowering her phone. “I know this isn’t fun.”</p><p>“It’s not quite a game of dress-up.” Adrien winces and rolls his shoulders. “But Marinette, I love watching you work. Really.”</p><p>“I’m just taking pictures and writing things down.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Adrien says. “But I can tell you’re creating in your head. I just—you…” He ducks his head and shrugs. “I admire you a lot.”</p><p>Marinette feels her face heat. “Uh—I—y-you—flattery won’t make this end any faster, you know.” Her eyes travel up and down Adrien’s figure, noting how the flowy sleeves contrast with the skintight jeans. “Um, can you move in those jeans?”</p><p>“Yes?” Adrien says. “I think. I don’t usually wear stuff this tight.”</p><p>“Turn around?”</p><p>Adrien turns his back to Marinette, and too late, she realizes her mistake: asking her crush to wear incredibly tight jeans, and then having him turn around so that she’s staring at his ass.</p><p>“Never mind!” Marinette squeaks. “I—I got what I need. You can turn back around now.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Adrien asks. He glances over his shoulder. “I can stay facing this way a bit longer, if you need. I want to make sure you get a good look.”</p><p>“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Oh, you know,” Adrien says. “I wouldn’t want to deprive your designer eyes.” He winks, erasing any possible innocent interpretation of his words.</p><p>Marinette groans. “Leave the jeans on, and swap out the shirt for that lace one I bought.”</p><p>While Adrien changes, she fans her face and prays that her blush fades fast. About thirty seconds later, Adrien steps out from behind the screen.</p><p>“I feel kind of naked,” he says.</p><p>The lace shirt has a boatneck—not ideal, but Marinette can ignore it—and tight long sleeves that cling to Adrien’s arms. The white fabric practically glows against his skin, like a dusting of snow on bronze.</p><p>“Should I be wearing something under this?” Adrien asks, as Marinette circles him. “Technically speaking, I’m showing a lot of skin.”</p><p>“Actually, showing some skin might not hurt,” Marinette murmurs. The entire shirt is covered with the same lace floral pattern, meaning there’s nothing to break up the shape of the shirt. It’s a bit monotonous.</p><p>“Alas,” Adrien says. “I fear I’m being used for my gorgeous body.”</p><p>“No, no!” Marinette says. “Only if you’re comfortable. I’m just thinking, if we left the base sheer, I could make some shapes on the torso, maybe…” </p><p>“I was kidding,” Adrien says. He winks again. “Use me as much as you want, pr—um, I mean, I’m fine with modeling anything, as long as you design it.”</p><p>For Adrien’s sake and hers, Marinette resolves to forget hearing him utter the phrase <em>use me as much as you want. </em>“Great!” she says. “Using the lace sparingly will draw more attention to its texture and pattern, I think.”</p><p>“That makes sense,” Adrien says. He tugs at the hem of the shirt. “Are you going to take more pictures?”</p><p>Once Marinette has done that, she grabs the leather jacket she bought, along with a white V-neck from Adrien’s closet. “Keep the pants and put these on.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Adrien asks. “I bet this jacket would look great with boxer briefs.”</p><p>“Shoo!” Marinette says, waving him toward the screen.</p><p>When Adrien finally steps out in the leather jacket and skinny jeans, Marinette gapes. She’s already decided on designing a lace shirt, of course—but Adrien Agreste makes a very compelling case for leather.</p><p>The black adds much-needed contrast, making his blond hair and green eyes pop. Somehow, he seems more defined with the darkness drawing attention to his features. The shoulders and cut of the jacket add a bit of bulk to his frame, while the white shirt clinging to his chest shows how slim he is. Between that and the skinny jeans, Adrien looks like he could fell a crowd of teenagers with just one glance.</p><p>“That’s…” Marinette pauses, searching for the right word.</p><p>Sinful? Sexy? No, Adrien doesn’t quite seem seductive. It’s a different kind of edginess.</p><p>Then it hits her: dangerous.</p><p>His springtime eyes make her think of venom. The sunlight bouncing off his hair reminds her of light reflecting off the blade of a knife. The cut of his jaw, the curve of his lips, it all feels sharper.</p><p>“Marinette?” Adrien says. His voice is the only thing that seems unchanged; it’s as soft and sweet as ever. “Do you need me to do a certain pose?”</p><p>“I’m not really using this for design ideas,” Marinette admits. “I kind of just wanted to see you in the outfit.”</p><p>“Oh,” Adrien says. He holds up his arms to look at the sleeves. “Well, uh, how do I look?”</p><p>“Really good,” Marinette says. “It suits you.”</p><p>“Maybe I should keep this, then,” Adrien says. “I’d reimburse you, of course—”</p><p>“What?” Marinette says. “No, that’s—that’s too cheap for you to wear.”</p><p>“Marinette,” Adrien says, laughing. “I can wear inexpensive clothes. I won’t break out in hives if my shirt costs less than one hundred euros.”</p><p>“Well,” Marinette says, “it looks like I guessed your size correctly, so…if you want to keep it, it’s forty-six euros.”</p><p>Adrien nods, and Marinette wonders if he has any idea what that number even means. “How about fifty-six?” he says. “I think I should pay you a styling fee.”</p><p>“Adrien. You are not paying me ten euros for buying you a leather jacket.”</p><p>“Fine.” Adrien grins mischievously. “What if I reimbursed you with, say…food?”</p><p>Marinette’s eyes narrow. “What kind of food?”</p><p>“Dinner?”</p><p>“That’s not a type of food.”</p><p>Adrien’s grin disappears. “Well, no, but I was thinking…maybe, you know, we could…”</p><p>Waving a hand, Marinette says, “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to diversify your wardrobe free of charge. Now, can I fix your hair before I take a picture? It’s a little too neat for this look.”</p><p>Adrien nods, and Marinette steps forward, hesitantly reaching toward his hair. </p><p>“I don’t bite,” Adrien says.</p><p>Standing on her toes, Marinette grumbles, “Why are you so <em>tall?” </em></p><p>“Genes?”</p><p>“Oh, I see,” Marinette says. “You have tall genes to go with your skinny ones.”</p><p>“Another pun?” Adrien says, eyebrows raised. “I’m falling harder by the minute.”</p><p>Rolling her eyes, Marinette carefully runs her fingers through Adrien’s hair. It’s light, and soft, just how she always imagined it would be—and in another context, she would happily sit and stroke Adrien’s hair for hours. Right now, though, she’s focused on making his hair look artfully tousled.</p><p>Marinette shifts strands of hair until Adrien looks more unkempt, with a few stray locks curling down in front of his forehead. One of his ears has disappeared behind a curtain of hair, which reminds her a bit of Chat’s hairstyle.</p><p>Satisfied, she steps back—and then another word comes to mind.</p><p>
  <em>Wild.</em>
</p><p>It’s like the danger she sensed before has found direction. Adrien’s eyes pin her like a predator’s, and it feels like his smile could be hiding fangs. Marinette half-expects his nails to be sharpened into claws.</p><p>A predator…like a cat.</p><p>No, no. Why can’t Marinette stop thinking of Chat Noir? Is it really because he and Adrien sometimes remind her of each other? Or is it because she would rather think about Chat right now?</p><p>Why can’t she get that stupid cat out of her head?</p><p>“Marinette?” Adrien asks.</p><p>“I—uh—yes,” Marinette says, regaining control of her tongue. “Can I get a brooding look? Or a smirk, maybe?”</p><p>Adrien’s mouth twists awkwardly, and Marinette frowns, finger hovering over the camera button on her phone.</p><p>“Um,” Marinette says. “Are you…trying to smirk?”</p><p>“It feels wrong,” Adrien says, grimacing. “Like I shouldn’t do it.”</p><p>“I’ve seen you smirk before.”</p><p>“Not on <em>command.” </em></p><p>“Um, then…give me your best pout?”</p><p>Snorting, Adrien purses his lips like he’s about to smooch someone. He holds the expression for about two seconds before he starts cackling along with Marinette.</p><p>“That—that was not a pout,” Marinette says.</p><p>“My lips were pursed,” Adrien says, gasping for breath. “That was a pout.”</p><p>“You looked like a fish.”</p><p>“Glub, glub,” Adrien says. He purses his lips again. “Tell me I’m not the prettiest fish you’ve ever seen.”</p><p>He bursts out laughing once more, and Marinette regains enough control to hold her phone steady. She snaps pictures as Adrien throws his head back and laughs, the sound of his voice ringing in the room like bells.</p><p>Marinette smiles to herself as she takes more pictures. When she first got a crush on Adrien, she’d thought she could only feel this happy if she dated him. She hadn’t realized that she could feel so much joy just taking pictures of him while he laughs and makes fish sounds.</p><p>With a loud exhale, Adrien levels his gaze at the camera, and that’s when Marinette gets her best shot. His eyes are sparkling, teeth gleaming in a lop-sided grin, cheeks flushed from laughing so hard—and his posture is relaxed, absent the tension that usually weighs down his movements.</p><p>Marinette smiles at the photo and marks it as one of her favorites. She wants to put <em>that </em>picture on her wall: a photo where Adrien is exuberant and glowing, not one of those wooden pictures from magazines where he smiles politely and it doesn’t reach his eyes.</p><p>“Alright,” Adrien says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Are you ready to take a picture?”</p><p>“I already did,” Marinette says, as she pockets her phone. “I think that’s everything, actually.”</p><p>“So you’re leaving?”</p><p>“Oh, I mean—I don’t want to take up any more of your afternoon.”</p><p>“Right.” Adrien’s eyes dart away. “I mean, as soon as you leave, I’ll have to get started on homework…and I think we still have a half hour before Nathalie kicks you out, so…”</p><p>Marinette tries not to wince. Hadn’t Adrien told her earlier that he hardly ever has friends over? Of course he wants her to stay.</p><p>And now he probably thinks Marinette was beating a hasty retreat.  </p><p>“Oh!” Marinette says, feigning surprise. “We still have that much time? I thought we took longer than that. So, um, video games?”</p><p>“Actually,” Adrien says, “I was thinking, it’s not fair that you didn’t get to play dress-up.”</p><p>Marinette frowns at the pile of borrowed clothing on Adrien’s bed. “You want me to try on the clothes I borrowed?”</p><p>“Oh, no.” Clearly holding back a smile, Adrien points at the closet door. “Those clothes.”</p><p>“You want me to wear your clothes?” Marinette exclaims.</p><p>She shouldn’t entertain romantic thoughts, but after liking Adrien for so long, it’s habitual. Wearing Adrien’s shirts and jackets—isn’t that something his girlfriend or boyfriend might do? Even though he would never let Marinette <em>keep </em>anything that she tries on, her face still burns at the thought.</p><p>“I can’t!” Marinette says. “You tore your suit, and you were being careful. If I try anything on, my clumsiness will do much worse.”</p><p>“I wasn’t really being careful,” Adrien says. “I tried to do a low squat in pants that were too tight.”</p><p>Adrien Agreste. Tight pants. Two very good things, except when they end in ripped seams.</p><p>“Come on,” Adrien implores. “Some of the stuff doesn’t even fit me anymore. And, well, you’re a lot smaller than me. How can you rip something if it’s too big? At worst, you’ll get swallowed in the fabric and I’ll have to fish you out.”</p><p>“I’m not that small,” Marinette grumbles.</p><p>“So?” Adrien says. “Want to try on some designer clothes?”</p><p>As a designer, Marinette loves clothes: creating them, wearing them, even just looking at them. Being given the opportunity to <em>try on</em> designer clothes—well, how could she possibly say no?</p><p>“Okay,” Marinette says. “S-sure. But only the things that don’t fit you!”</p><p>“I can work with that.” Grinning, Adrien grabs Marinette’s wrist with one hand and the clothing rack with his other, then drags them both into his closet.</p><p>Moving with impressive speed, Adrien starts grabbing clothes and shoving them into Marinette’s hands. Some items are non-Gabriel brands, while others are clearly emblazoned with the Gabriel logo. When Marinette can’t hold any more, she hobbles over to hang the clothes on the rack—and when she turns around a moment later, Adrien already has another stack of clothing in his arms.</p><p>“Adrien,” Marinette says, taking the new pile. “There’s no way I can try on all of this in a half hour.”</p><p>“I just want to give you options,” Adrien says. He turns back to the wall of clothes. “And it’s hard to narrow it down. I feel like you’d look cute in pretty much anything I own.”</p><p>Blushing, Marinette wonders just how much Adrien has thought about her trying on his clothes. He seems to know exactly where to find the pieces he’s grown out of.</p><p>“Uh—well, um—thank you,” Marinette says, laughing nervously. “But I think we have enough clothes!” She peers at him over the clothes stacked in her arms. “Are you going to be the designer, then? Since I’m modeling?”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Adrien says. “I don’t have an eye for that sort of thing.”</p><p>“And I’m not a model,” Marinette says. “Honestly, there are too many options for me to choose from. You pick?”</p><p>Judging by how enthusiastically Adrien nods and wheels the rack into his room, Marinette has a feeling that his protests were a front.</p><p>For a moment, Adrien scrutinizes the options and mumbles to himself. Then he smiles and hands Marinette a pastel pink suit.</p><p>“Ooh,” Marinette says, stepping behind the screen. “Why this?”</p><p>“Well,” Adrien says, “you like pink, right?”</p><p>The air of Adrien’s room is cold as she slips off her jacket and shirt, followed by her pants. “That’s true. Any other reason?”</p><p>“And, uh…I thought you’d look cute?”</p><p>Marinette pauses. It occurs to her that she’s standing in Adrien’s room in her underwear, with only a screen to separate them, while he tells her that he thinks she would look cute in his clothes. For a moment, nerves overtake her limbs, and she stares at the white dress shirt in her hands.</p><p>“Marinette?” Adrien says. “Sorry, did—did I say something wrong?”</p><p>“No!” Marinette hastily slips her arms through the sleeves of the shirt. “Not at all!” As she quickly buttons it, she asks, “Um, have you ever told Nino that he’s cute?”</p><p>“Not…really?” Adrien says. “I mean, objectively speaking, he is. But he’d probably think I was flirting with him if I said that.”</p><p>“I see,” Marinette says. She slips on the pants next, surprised to find that they hug her hips perfectly—although the legs are a bit loose, due to the straight cut. “S-so, um…what am <em>I </em>supposed to think, when you say that to me?” </p><p>Adrien says nothing as Marinette tucks in the shirt. He’s silent as she slips on the jacket, and he still doesn’t speak when she emerges from behind the screen.</p><p>He stares at her, eyes wide. “Oh.”</p><p>“Wh-what?” Marinette asks. “Haven’t you seen a girl in a suit before?”</p><p>“I—I mean, yeah, but—you look really good.” Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “And forget what I said a minute ago. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”</p><p>“Not uncomfortable!” Marinette says. Just confused—because if Adrien thinks that calling his friends <em>cute </em>sounds like flirting, then it doesn’t make sense for him to say that to her. “Um, want to take a picture?” Smiling, Marinette puts a hand on her hip and cocks it.</p><p>“Y-yeah!” Adrien fumbles for his phone and holds it up, tapping the screen a few times. “Got it. Do you want to try the blue button-up next? The one with the little white flowers?”</p><p>“Am I going without pants, or…?”</p><p>“Sure! I mean, <em>no. </em>No.” Adrien coughs. “Uh, the pinstripe pants? Wait, no—I guess stripes don’t really go with a floral pattern, so, um—”</p><p>“Sounds good!” Marinette says. Face burning, she ducks behind the screen again.</p><p>Once she’s changed, she glances down and smooths the creases of the outfit with her hands. Adrien had said that the floral pattern wouldn’t match the pants, but really, the gray stripes are so faint that they aren’t too noticeable. Actually, Marinette likes the combination.</p><p>Adrien’s mouth falls open when Marinette steps out from behind the screen. “Oh. That, uh. You. Wow.”</p><p>“Yes,” Marinette says, nodding sagely. “I thought so, too.”</p><p>“Sorry, it’s—the deep blue really brings out your eyes. And the pants fit really well! They might need to be hemmed, but…” Adrien grins. “I think you should keep the outfit.”</p><p>“You—me keep—what?” Marinette says. “No, I couldn’t!”</p><p>“The clothes don’t fit me. They look good on you. Why not?”</p><p>“B-because they’re designer clothes, and I…I’m…”</p><p>“A designer?”</p><p>Marinette sighs. “I’m not winning this, am I.”</p><p>“Nope. I’m pretty stubborn when I want to be.”</p><p>“So I see,” Marinette mutters. Stubborn and flirtatious—that reminds her of another blond boy in her life. “Fine. I’ll keep them. I’ve kind of dreamed about owning designer clothes, anyway, so you don’t have to convince me.”</p><p>“Do you want more? I really don’t need any of—”</p><p>“No! Then you’ll be spoiling me.”</p><p>“Is that a bad thing?”</p><p>
  <em>“Adrien.” </em>
</p><p>He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! Um, you pick what you want to try on next.”</p><p>“You don’t want a photo?”</p><p>“No,” Adrien says. “If you want to see how you look in this outfit, you’ll have to wear it again.”</p><p>“I feel like you’re only saying that so <em>you </em>can see me in the outfit again.”</p><p>“Maybe. Like I said, it brings out your eyes.” Adrien raises his eyebrows. “And you know I have a thing for blue eyes.”</p><p>Marinette laughs, skin hot with a blush. “R-right! And my thing for blonds! Who could forget?”</p><p>Before Adrien can reply, she scampers behind the screen again.</p><p>As Marinette untucks her shirt and unbuttons it, her fingers fumble slightly. She could be wrong—in fact, she <em>must </em>be wrong—but it feels an awful lot like Adrien is flirting with her.</p><p>But obviously that’s not it. He just mentioned her blue eyes. How is that flirting?</p><p>Suddenly, Adrien’s words from weeks ago ring in her ears: <em>You forgot someone rather obvious who has blue eyes.</em></p><p>Marinette pauses, the shirt hanging open. The air feels even colder against her bare stomach, making goosebumps rise on her skin.</p><p>No. That can’t be right.</p><p>She shakes her head, then shucks the shirt and pants. Just because she has blue eyes and Adrien <em>seems </em>to be flirting with her, that doesn’t mean she should get her hopes up. Every time she’s hoped that Adrien might like her back, she’s been proven wrong—so why entertain the fantasy yet again?</p><p>Ever since Marinette stopped searching for clues, she’s been happier. Since she stopped chasing Adrien, they’ve become <em>friends. </em>If something romantic happens, she’ll let it happen, but Marinette knows she’ll only get hurt if she digs for hints that Adrien likes her.</p><p>For the last few minutes that they have together, Marinette tries on increasingly wild outfits in an attempt to make Adrien admit that she looks terrible. When he stares at her wide-eyed and says he loves how the chartreuse suitcoat complements her bright orange dress pants—his mouth twisted into a grimace as he speaks—she knows he’s lying.</p><p>“Just admit it’s bad!” she says, laughing.</p><p>“Never,” Adrien says.</p><p>“Adrien!”</p><p>“You look amazing.”</p><p>“Tell the truth,” Marinette says. “I look like a traffic cone someone vomited on.”</p><p>Adrien’s lips wobble with a smile. “Okay. I admit that description passed through my mind. But I would never actually <em>say </em>it.”</p><p>Marinette mentally files that information away: Adrien is one of those people who will lie when asked, <em>Does this dress make me look fat? </em></p><p>“Charmer,” Marinette mutters, taking off her suitcoat. “Okay. We should start cleaning up now.”</p><p>Once Marinette has changed back into her clothes, she and Adrien spend the last few minutes gathering the clothes she borrowed and putting them back in the bag. Even though they work without speaking, it doesn’t feel awkward. Marinette’s brain is buzzing with ideas, and Adrien keeps humming something that sounds like an anime theme.</p><p>When all the clothes are cleaned up, Marinette turns to help with Adrien’s clothes—but he stops her with a hand on her arm. “I’ll take care of my clothes,” he says.</p><p>“But I…” Marinette yawns. “I can help.”</p><p>“You’re tired,” Adrien says, smiling softly. “You did a lot of work this afternoon. You should go take a nap or something.”</p><p>“I didn’t do much.”</p><p>“Work up here”—Adrien taps his head—”is still work. I’ll see you around?”</p><p>Reluctantly, Marinette grabs the bagged hangers, the yellow pants, the outfit Adrien gifted her, and her bag of clothes. With careful, laden steps, she makes her way toward the door.</p><p>Adrien opens the door, and Marinette pauses. She can’t shake the feeling that she’s abandoning him to his big, lonely room.</p><p>“Um, Adrien,” Marinette says. “Will you be okay?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Adrien asks. The tiny scrunch of his forehead seems out of place with his leather jacket and black jeans.</p><p>“You mentioned you get lonely at home,” Marinette says. “You know you can still text or call me once I leave, right? We can hang out virtually, too.” </p><p>Adrien’s jacket rustles as he leans forward and hugs Marinette. She does her best to return the hug, even with her arms full of clothes.</p><p>“Sorry,” Adrien says. “I always forget to ask.”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Marinette says. “You don’t have to!”</p><p>“I know, but…” Adrien pulls back, his eyes unreadable. “A lot of people touch and grab me without my permission, and—I mean, some of it is work-related, but…I don’t know. I feel better asking.”</p><p>Marinette’s stomach twists at his words. “Right! Of course.”</p><p>“Okay,” Adrien says, letting go of her. “I’ll talk to you later, then?”</p><p>Marinette struggles to keep her expression free of concern, but the thought of leaving Adrien alone in his room makes her feel sick. She’d rather wrap her arms around him, bury her nose against the scent of faux leather, and stroke his hair as he murmurs his anxieties in her ear. All the things he’s afraid to tell his friends, because he thinks they’ll leave him if he’s not perfect—all the feelings he bottles up because his father told him that showing emotions <em>bothers </em>other people—she wants to hear every word.</p><p>All too suddenly, her anger at Gabriel Agreste returns, and vicious words boil in her lungs. Marinette wants to march down to his office, the same way she’s confronted Chloé, and Lila, and Monsieur Roth, and every other person who’s ever made someone feel small or unimportant.</p><p>Because that’s what Gabriel does. Marinette sees it in Adrien’s hunched shoulders, in the smiles that don’t wrinkle his eyes. Gabriel is the reason Adrien feels like his emotions burden others, the reason he never mentions how lonely he is, and he’s probably the reason Adrien insists on putting up a wall between himself and the world.</p><p>Or maybe she’s making too many assumptions. Ever since she met Alya, Marinette has developed a tiny voice in her head that warns her not to make leaps too quickly.</p><p>This doesn’t feel like a leap, though.</p><p>Marinette knows it’s not her place to interfere—and so, as much as she wants to tear apart Gabriel, she won’t. But she also won’t look at him with stars in her eyes anymore. She won’t blindly fawn over his brand’s designs. She won’t gleefully go through magazines featuring Adrien’s photos.</p><p>“Marinette?” Adrien asks. “We don’t have to talk later, if you’re busy—”</p><p>“Don’t do that,” Marinette blurts out.</p><p>“Do…what?” </p><p>Marinette hesitates. “Don’t—don’t reject yourself on my behalf. If I take too long to respond, that doesn’t mean my answer is <em>no. </em>Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts.” She brushes her fingers against the sleeve of Adrien’s jacket. “I’m never too busy for you. Or, um—sometimes things come up, but I’d never be upset with you for calling or text me. Understood?”</p><p>“R-right. Got it.”</p><p>Marinette doesn’t think he’s got it. “So you can text me later.”</p><p>“I can text you later,” Adrien says.</p><p>“Are you just repeating everything I say?”</p><p>“I’m not just repeating…” Adrien trails off and sighs. “Yes, I’ll text you later, and I understand that I do not need your permission to do that, so I will not phrase it as a question.”</p><p>“Good.” Marinette smiles. “Take care, Adrien.”</p><p>Adrien opens his mouth, then pauses, eyes flicking around Marinette’s face. Before she can ask what’s wrong, he dives forward and presses a brief kiss to her cheek.</p><p>“And…do I have to ask before I do <em>that?” </em>Adrien murmurs.</p><p>It feels like Adrien somehow sucked all the oxygen from Marinette’s body with his cheek kiss: she’s a bit dizzy, and her stomach flutters in a way that’s part-giddy, part-anxious.</p><p>She doesn’t know what to make of that.</p><p>“N-no,” Marinette says. “You don’t.” Smothering her nerves, she stands on her tiptoes and presses a light kiss to his cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.”</p><p>Adrien lifts his fingers to touch his cheek, skin flushed beneath his hand. “Y-yeah, I’ll…talk. Later. To you.” Smiling, he steps outside and holds the door open for her. “Do you need help with those clothes?”</p><p>“I can handle them!” Marinette says.</p><p>“Um, I’ll walk you to the door, just in case.”</p><p>Nodding, Marinette shuffles out the door and down the stairs, with Adrien hovering at her side as she does.</p><p>They reach the front door of the mansion and exchange smiles—and then Marinette makes her way to the gate alone.</p><p>The moment it clangs shut behind her, her phone buzzes in her purse.</p><p>Praying she doesn’t drop the clothes piled in her arms, Marinette fishes out her phone to see who texted her. Probably Alya, asking Marinette about her afternoon with Adrien.</p><p>Surprisingly, though, it’s two texts from Adrien. Teetering as she struggles to keep her balance, Marinette unlocks her phone to read the messages.</p><p><strong>Adrien: </strong>Thanks for coming over! I’m glad we got to hang out. I know it was for your design, but it was still fun.<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>Not that I didn’t think it would be fun! I always like spending time with you :)</p><p>Before Marinette can even attempt a one-handed response, another batch of texts appears on the screen.</p><p><strong>Adrien: </strong>Sorry, I know you haven’t even left the mansion yet. I can see you on the sidewalk.<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>I’m not being creepy I swear I just happened to look out the window<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>please stop reading these messages I can see you looking at your phone and I’m dying of embarrassment<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>also please don’t turn around and look at the window I’m afraid you’ll trip and drop all the clothes<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>obviously I’ll come help if you do but I mean it’s better if you don’t</p><p>Marinette tries in vain to type out a response with her thumb, but her phone is too big and unwieldy, and Adrien’s texts are coming too quickly.</p><p><strong>Adrien: </strong>I know you said I could text you anytime but I’m pretty sure you didn’t mean like this so can I apologize? I can’t tell if I should apologize. Sorry if I shouldn’t<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>wait sorry I just realized that’s an apology<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>no wait I did it again I’m so sorry<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>SKHDKSHDKSK please just delete these message from your phone instead of responding to them<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>MARINETTE I CAN SEE YOU READING THE MESSAGES PLEASE STOP</p><p>Sighing, Marinette hits the voice message button on her phone. “Relax, Adrien. You know I ramble a lot, so you don’t need to apologize or be embarrassed. I’ll text you back when I get home.”</p><p>She sends it and stares at her phone, waiting for the three dots that will tell her Adrien is responding.</p><p>Seconds pass with no response. Frowning, Marinette takes a few steps down the sidewalk, and once she reaches the corner, the telltale ellipses finally appears.</p><p><strong>Adrien: </strong>Sorry. I threw my phone across the room and it slid under the table. I’ll talk to you later!</p><p>Marinette snorts as she pockets her phone. It’s kind of sweet, knowing that Adrien gets just as flustered and awkward as she does.</p><p>When she gets home and finally manages to haul all of the clothing upstairs, Marinette flops down on her chaise longue and closes her eyes. “I’m exhausted.”</p><p>“You should take a nap!” Tikki says.</p><p>“I think I—” Marinette’s phone buzzes. “Right. Adrien. Hold on.”</p><p>Yawning, she pulls her phone from her pocket and squints at the screen. According to the notification, Adrien has sent her a photo, so Marinette slides open the message to see.</p><p>It’s a photograph of Marinette wearing the light pink suit, her chin tilted up as she smiles coyly at the camera. She’s surprised at how confident she looks in the picture, and almost wonders if Adrien edited it somehow.</p><p><strong>Adrien: </strong>Figured I’d send you my favorite photo from this afternoon. Thanks for being my model ;)</p><p>Marinette smiles and starts to type a response. Before she finishes, though, another message appears.</p><p><strong>Adrien: </strong>I mean they’re all good photos I don’t actually have a favorite I just picked one where you looked pretty<br/>
<strong>Adrien: </strong>but you looked pretty in all of them so really I just picked a random one</p><p>Blushing, Marinette finishes typing her response, then attaches the photo of Adrien in the neon yellow suit and hits send.</p><p><strong>Marinette: </strong>You’re not so bad yourself, <em>beau-nane.</em></p><p>Then she throws her phone across the room and buries her face against the fabric of her chaise longue.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I didn't have a chance to triple-check the French puns this time, so hopefully they all worked 😂 and I hope everyone's having a merry October! See y'all in two weeks 😎</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y'all! Welcome back. A quick note before we start: for the next several weeks, I'll be taking a break from editing this fic so that I can focus on some non-fandom stuff. I'll still be updating the chapters that I <i>have</i> edited, but to avoid running out of chapters, I'll be updating once every two weeks instead of once a week. That way, you guys still get regular updates, and we should be able to avoid a sizeable hiatus.</p><p>I'm also taking a break from the Miraculous fandom in general—more on that <a href="https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/post/631703428921507840/hiatus-sort-of-announcement-hey-yall-as-i">here</a>. In addition to what I wrote in the Tumblr post, I've been dealing with some mental health issues for the past few months, and I can't mentally afford to keep up with fandom stuff right now. </p><p>However, as I said before, <i>Lace or Leather</i> updates will continue! Thank you for your support, y'all.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Later that night, when Marinette’s hand starts to cramp from too much sketching, she pushes back her chair and groans.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Tikki asks.</p><p>“Adrien.” Marinette tosses her pencil on her desk. “I’m worried about him. I mean, I can’t force him to talk to me, but I feel like he needs to talk to <em>someone.” </em></p><p>“I’m sure he’ll open up when he’s ready!”</p><p>“Maybe.” Marinette shakes her head. “It’s just, the things he says about himself. I can’t imagine him being that hard on other people!”</p><p>“Well,” Tikki says, hovering over Marinette’s sketchbook. “Adrien had a different upbringing than you did. His father seems very critical.”</p><p>“His father,” Marinette mutters. “I’d love to give him a piece of my mind. But I don’t want to make Adrien upset.” Sighing, she spins her desk chair. “And…there’s another problem. This afternoon, I kept thinking about Chat.”</p><p>“Are you worried about him, too?”</p><p>“Of course,” Marinette says. “But at least he can visit me when something’s bothering him. Adrien can’t do that.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t worry about that!” Tikki says. “I’m sure Adrien is fine with texting or calling you.”</p><p>“Maybe.” Marinette drags her chair toward the desk and starts flipping through her designs, just so that her hands have something to do. “Anyway…I’m less worried about Chat, and more worried about…” She sighs, fingers tracing the line of a sleeve. “Me and Chat. Us.”</p><p>Tikki tilts her head to the side. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Marinette groans and lets her forehead fall onto her sketchbook. She’s not sure if she wants to say it out loud; part of her thinks that if she keeps the words to herself, this whole thing will go away. “Having dinner with Chat didn’t feel weird.”</p><p>“I think that’s good!” Tikki says. “That means you’re getting more comfortable around each other as friends.”</p><p>Except it didn’t feel like Marinette had invited a friend over for dinner. With Alya or Nino, it’s never felt like they belonged in her family so completely—like a seat at the table should be saved for them every night.</p><p>“No,” Marinette says. She folds her arms on the desk and rests her chin atop them. “I mean…I felt like I was introducing my boyfriend to my parents.”</p><p>“Do you want him to be your boyfriend?”</p><p>“What?” Marinette says. “N—I mean—I—that’s not my point!”</p><p>But her stomach flutters at the words <em>Chat Noir </em>and <em>boyfriend. </em>Would it be so bad, dating him? Holding his hand, cuddling, kissing?</p><p>
  <em>Kissing.</em>
</p><p>Marinette hides her face in her hands. “I almost kissed him last night!”</p><p>To her disdain, Tikki giggles. “You did.”</p><p>“But I…” Marinette sighs. “Why?”</p><p>“Well,” Tikki says. “You two care about each other. And like I tried to tell you before, it’s not unusual for Ladybugs and Black Cats to have a special bond! You’re meant to complement each other, after all.”</p><p>“Are we meant to fall in love with each other, too?” Marinette asks, lowering her hands. “And don’t be cryptic! If that’s how it works, just tell me.”</p><p>“Is that what you want me to tell you?” Tikki asks. “To make things easier?”</p><p>Marinette smothers a growl. Tikki always guesses what she’s really thinking.</p><p>Because if Ladybugs are supposed to end up with Black Cats due to being pulled together by the cosmic forces of yin and yang—well, then, that’s easy. Marinette is going to end up with Chat Noir, because she’s <em>meant to. </em></p><p>But if that’s not how it is, then Marinette has to face the worst enemy of all: uncertainty.</p><p>Marinette jumps to her feet and begins pacing. “That can’t happen. I can’t get stuck between two boys.”</p><p>Tikki zips around the room, doing her best to keep up with Marinette. “You don’t have to—”</p><p>“I love Adrien!” Marinette says. “And yes, there have been a few moments where I—where I felt <em>something </em>for Chat Noir—but that’s just…strong platonic love, right? That’s all.”</p><p>Tikki hovers in front of Marinette, forcing her to stop pacing. “Marinette! Don’t worry. Things will work themselves out, I promise!”</p><p>“Are you saying it’s <em>not </em>strong platonic love?” Marinette stops and sits back on her chaise longue—except she miscalculates and tumbles to the floor instead. With a sore tailbone, she flops onto her back and groans again. “It has to be. I can’t pick between two boys!”</p><p>Sighing, Tikki settles on Marinette’s stomach. “I think you should stop worrying about this for now. Getting upset won’t fix anything!”</p><p>Marinette wants to solve this problem now, though. She wants to climb onto her balcony with a giant searchlight—just like Chloé’s stupid Queen Bee signal—and blast a gigantic cat head into the sky. (Or maybe a silhouette of Chat Noir’s sculpted rear instead, since that’s just as distinctive.) Chat would see that, and come rushing to Marinette’s balcony, and then…she would do what, exactly?</p><p>That’s the issue. Marinette doesn’t know what she would say, if Chat suddenly arrived to discuss her feelings for him.</p><p>Marinette hates to admit it, but Tikki is right. She won’t gain anything from worrying about a problem she can’t solve.</p><p>As for Adrien, though…Marinette has an idea. It’s been brewing in her mind since she left the Agreste mansion, and even though Tikki will probably object, Marinette thinks it might just work.</p><p>“Tikki,” Marinette says, “I think I know how to help Adrien.”</p><p>“Are you going to write him a poem?” Tikki asks. “Or send him a funny cat video?”</p><p>“No, I—wait, do you think he’d like that?” Marinette asks. She has a formidable library of stupid cat videos on her phone, courtesy of Chat constantly sending them to Ladybug’s yo-yo. “You’ve got a point. I’ll send him a video later. But that’s not what I was thinking!”</p><p>“What are you planning to do, then?”</p><p>“I’m going to visit him as Ladybug.”</p><p>As expected, Tikki frowns. “Won’t that complicate things? And you really shouldn’t use the Miraculous for personal—”</p><p>“Chat uses his Miraculous to visit me all the time!” Marinette says. “You never complain about <em>that.” </em></p><p>“I don’t have any control over what Plagg and Chat Noir decide to do,” Tikki says. “But I’m your kwami, which means maybe you and I should—”</p><p>“Tikki,” Marinette pleads. “Chat visits me because his homelife is miserable. Adrien doesn’t have that option—but if Ladybug visited him, that wouldn’t be a problem! I just want to talk to him, and give him a chance to vent to someone.”</p><p>Tikki’s tiny mouth is still pinched in a frown. “That’s very kind, but would Adrien be willing to talk to Ladybug? Isn’t he closer to you as Marinette?”</p><p>“Ladybug has authority,” Marinette says, climbing up the stairs to her bed. “You know, the same way teachers and counselors do! Adrien is afraid to open up to his friends, but he’s got nothing to lose with Ladybug. I’m just a superhero stranger to him.”</p><p>“I’m still not sure—”</p><p>“Tikki, transforme-moi!”</p><p>Tikki harrumphs as she disappears into the earrings.</p><p>Ignoring the tiny voice that says <em>maybe you shouldn’t,</em> Ladybug clambers onto her balcony and swings toward the Agreste mansion.</p><p>When she lands on the roof across from the mansion, she sees that the light in Adrien’s room is on. Looking inside feels like peering into a life-size diorama: the mansion a lifeless model, with perfect furniture and pretty rooms, and little figures that get moved around at the creator’s will.</p><p>Tonight, Adrien is shooting hoops in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair bouncing as he darts from side to side. There’s no opponent, of course—as always, he’s on his own.</p><p>With a flick of her wrist, Ladybug flings her yo-yo and leaps. She ends up suspended in front of Adrien’s room, clinging to the window frame with her free hand. Using the hand that’s not holding her yo-yo, she quietly knocks on the glass.</p><p>Adrien startles mid-throw, and his basketball ricochets off the wall. He whirls around, eyes wide.</p><p><em>Ladybug? </em>he mouths.</p><p>Channeling an aura of <em>yes, of course I am supposed to be here, </em>Ladybug smiles and waves.</p><p>Adrien scrambles over to the window, banging his leg off his coffee table as he does. Moving in a mix of a hop and a limp, he makes his way to the window next to Ladybug and pushes it open.</p><p>“Ladybug!” Adrien says. “What’s wrong? Is there an akuma? Um, how can I help?”</p><p>“No, no!” Ladybug says. “No akuma! I just…decided to stop by?”</p><p>Adrien frowns, hands digging into the pockets of his sweatpants. “You did?”</p><p>“That’s right,” Ladybug says. “Um, don’t tell anyone I said this, but…I hear Chat Noir visits civilians sometimes.”</p><p>“What? You—how—he does?” Adrien’s forehead creases. “But, um, isn’t that bad, and dangerous, and stuff? Is he in trouble?”</p><p>“Of course not!” Ladybug says. “I’ve only heard of him visiting one person, anyway, and it’s a mutual friend, so—I trust the two of them! Not that it would matter if I didn’t. I can’t control him. I mean, I <em>shouldn’t </em>control him. He’s free to do what he wants!”</p><p>“So you didn’t come here to complain about Chat Noir?”</p><p>“Never!” Ladybug says. “My point was, since Chat Noir visits civilians, I figured, <em>Hey, maybe I should do that, too. </em>Um, so. Here I am!”</p><p>Adrien still looks confused. “And you picked me because…?”</p><p>This isn’t playing out how Ladybug envisioned it.</p><p>Not that she had much <em>time </em>to envision it, since it barely took a minute to transform and show up at Adrien’s room—but still. How does Chat do it? How did he land on Marinette’s balcony that first night, just before the Glaciator battle, and casually spill his heart to her? How, a few visits later, did he have the gall to say that he’d be her date for a school dance?</p><p>Superheroes aren’t supposed to randomly show up in civilians’ bedrooms, and Ladybug is distinctly aware that she’s misusing her Miraculous to do this. (Then again, that could just be Tikki somehow scolding her through the earrings.) Every other time she’s interacted with Adrien while wearing a mask, it’s involved rescuing him or protecting him from an akuma. Visiting him at night, and claiming that she did it on a whim, is horribly awkward.</p><p>Suddenly, she feels exposed. Is Adrien going to figure her out? Will he guess that Ladybug visited him because she knows him in real life?</p><p>Touching her mask to make sure it’s still there, Ladybug eloquently says, “What?”</p><p>“Why did you visit me?” Adrien asks. “Do we—I mean…it just seems like there’s another reason you’re here.”</p><p>Ladybug tries to gauge how much she should lie, and then she realizes: she can’t. This is the boy who leaped from the top of a skyscraper without hesitation because he trusted that Ladybug would catch him. He trusts her, which means that he deserves as much of the truth as she can give him.</p><p>“Okay,” Ladybug says. “I admit, randomly visiting people isn’t really my thing.”</p><p>Adrien laughs. “I didn’t think so. Uh, do you want to come in? I just realized that people might notice you hanging off my window.”</p><p>“Right.” Ladybug hops through the window and lands next to Adrien. “Can we sit?”</p><p>Nodding, Adrien leads her to the couch and sits. Ladybug perches on the far end of the seat, back uncomfortably straight.</p><p>“So, what brings you here?” Adrien says. “It’s funny—you’re actually my second visitor today. Normally I don’t see anyone at all.”  </p><p>Yet another joke about how lonely he is. Every time Marinette tries to ask, though, Adrien shies away. So why does he keep bringing it up? Is he secretly hoping that someone will push harder?</p><p>Ladybug supposes she’s about to find out.</p><p>“Funny you should mention that!” Ladybug says. “I’m actually friends with Marinette. Or, well, I see her on her balcony occasionally, and we talk sometimes.”</p><p>“She’s great, isn’t she?” Adrien says, grinning. “I’m not surprised that you two are friends.”</p><p>Ladybug’s cheeks heat, and she hopes her blushing isn’t too noticeable. “Right! Well, uh, Marinette is worried about you.”</p><p>The smile immediately disappears from Adrien’s face, like a cloud suddenly blocking the sun. “Oh, no,” he says. “Did I make her uncomfortable? Is she mad at me? I know I said some annoying things, but she didn’t seem to mind.” He sighs. “I just wanted her to enjoy spending time with me, but…sometimes I’m not good at interacting with people. Especially Marinette.” </p><p>“Wait, what do you mean?” Ladybug asks. “What’s different about her?”</p><p>“I’d rather not talk about that,” Adrien says, glancing away. “It’s been stressing me out all day. Or, um…longer than that, really.”</p><p>Ladybug’s fingers clench into anxious fists on her lap. Something involving her is stressing Adrien out—but what could she have done, to make him upset? Is he mad that she keeps urging him to talk about his problems?</p><p>That must be it. She’s been too pushy, and overbearing, and now Adrien is reevaluating whether he wants to stay friends with her.  </p><p>“Are you upset with her?” Ladybug asks. “Because if she did something, I can—”</p><p>“No!” Adrien says. His green eyes blaze with an emotion Ladybug can’t quite name. “I could never be upset with Marinette. I lo—I like her a lot. It’s…never mind. You said she was worried about something?”</p><p>“Well, first,” Ladybug says, “she loved being here. In fact, she wouldn’t stop talking about you! I mean…you…your closet.”</p><p>Adrien’s front teeth peek out in a tentative smile. “Really? She was talking about me? Um, was she saying good things?”</p><p>“Great things!” Ladybug says, as she tries to think of something Marinette might say to Ladybug. “She…said you look really good in a leather jacket. Not surprising, since you’re a model.”</p><p>“Anything else?”</p><p>Is it odd, that Adrien is milking her for information? It reminds Ladybug of the times that Alya has interrogated her after a conversation with Adrien, searching for clues that Adrien might return her feelings.</p><p>Of course, that can’t be what he’s doing.</p><p>“Um, not much,” Ladybug says. “We’re not <em>that </em>close. But she had fun, and I can tell she really cares about you!”</p><p>Smiling softly, Adrien glances down at his lap. His fingers fiddle with something on his wrist, and for the first time, Ladybug notices pink and green beads peeking out from his hoodie sleeve.</p><p>And Ladybug recognizes those beads. She remembers <em>giving him </em>those beads.</p><p>“Is that a bracelet?” she blurts out.</p><p>“Yeah,” Adrien says. “It’s Marinette’s lucky charm. She gave it to me for good luck.”</p><p><em>Marinette’s lucky charm.</em> Not his. Does that mean Adrien thinks of her, whenever he wears it?</p><p>“Do you usually wear it?” Ladybug asks. She’d known Adrien still had it—or at least, he was carrying it with him during the Gorizilla attack. But she can’t recall ever seeing it on Adrien’s wrist.</p><p>“No,” Adrien says. “It’s special, you know? I don’t want the paparazzi to see it. Plus, I’m afraid of something happening to it during a photoshoot, so I usually keep it in my pocket. I take it everywhere I go, though.” He smiles, running a finger across the clover bead. “But when I’m in my room, yeah. I wear it sometimes.”</p><p>“That’s really sweet,” Ladybug murmurs.</p><p>“Anyway.” Adrien shakes his head. “You said Marinette’s worried about something? If I can help, let me know. She’s got so much on her plate, so if there’s anything I can do…”</p><p>Ladybug resists the urge to fling herself across the couch and tackle Adrien in a hug. She would love to just stay in this big room for a week, having fun and hiding from her responsibilities. Some days, her to-do list makes it hard to even get out of bed.</p><p>“I’m sure she appreciates that,” Ladybug says. “It’s just, uh, some things you said earlier concerned her?”</p><p>One of Adrien’s teeth catches on his bottom lip. “Did she tell you what I said?”  </p><p>“No!” Ladybug says. “No, she said it wasn’t any of my business. Or hers. But, well, it’s my job to prevent akumas! So, if there’s something that’s making you really upset, um…”</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Adrien says. “Ladybug, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble! You really didn’t have to check on me. I’m sure you have more important things to do.” He curls in on himself like a wilted flower. “I guess I didn’t do a good job acting normal around Marinette. I should have been more careful about what I said. That’s my fault.”</p><p>Ladybug’s jaw clenches. Why, <em>why</em> must Adrien turn everything into a reason to beat himself up?</p><p>“Adrien,” she says firmly. “This is important. You’re important. We might not know each other that well, but I still care about you.”</p><p>“You do?” Adrien asks. “But…why?”</p><p>“W-well—I—it’s my job to care about civilians!” Ladybug says. “I mean, not that I care about you because it’s my job. I—what I’m saying is, visiting you isn’t any trouble. I do this all the time!”</p><p>Adrien raises an eyebrow. “Sneak into troubled civilians’ bedrooms and try to be their therapist?”</p><p>“Fine,” Ladybug says, sighing. “I usually don’t go out of my way like this. But we’ve met a few times, and you’re a good person, so I want to make sure you’re okay.”</p><p>“Oh. So, I…I’m not bothering you?” Adrien asks. “If I tell you what’s wrong?”</p><p>Ladybug gives him her best encouraging smile. “Not at all. Trust me.”</p><p>“I do.” Adrien frowns, his eyes falling to the hardwood floor at his feet. The wood is shiny, not a speck of dust or dirt. “It’s hard to describe. I…I’m not good at being myself, I guess. And sometimes I worry that I only have the friends I do because I <em>wasn’t </em>myself.”</p><p>Ladybug nods. “That makes sense. But…”</p><p>“I know,” Adrien says. “I should just be myself anyway, because people who don’t like me for <em>me </em>aren’t actually my friends. I know that.”</p><p>“Oh.” Ladybug’s nose wrinkles. If Adrien already knows that, she’s not sure what advice to give him. “So what’s the problem?”</p><p>“Right,” Adrien mutters. “Everything’s fine, and I’m silly for thinking there’s a problem.”</p><p>“I didn’t say that,” Ladybug says. She struggles to keep the edge out of her tone—because really, does Adrien have to misinterpret everything she says? Who taught him that every word spoken to him is a criticism?</p><p>Ladybug clenches and unclenches her hands, like squeezing a stress ball. Gabriel Agreste. The answer is <em>Gabriel Agreste.</em></p><p>“Sorry,” Adrien says. “I—I know you didn’t.”</p><p>“Adrien,” Ladybug says. “I’m not a therapist, but…could you stop assuming you’re being criticized all the time? Because you’re not. No one is criticizing you.”</p><p>Adrien presses his lips together, and Ladybug wonders why he isn’t responding. Then she sees the tears slipping from his eyes, racing down his cheeks to land on trembling lips.</p><p>“Oh,” Ladybug breathes. “Adrien, do—do you need a hug, or—”</p><p>Adrien clambers across the couch and throws himself against Ladybug, wrapping his arms around her in a vice-like grip. He clings to her as his body shakes, the only sound his uneven breaths and sniffling.</p><p>Ladybug squeezes her eyes shut and wraps her arms around Adrien, searching for the strength to comfort him. It breaks her heart to see someone she cares about crying; the quiet sound of his sobs almost makes her sick to her stomach.</p><p>When she decided to visit Adrien, she hadn’t anticipated this. And that was stupid. Maybe if she had stopped to actually think about what she was doing, she would have realized that she was waltzing into a landmine of personal issues.</p><p>Is she in over her head? She’s comforted crying civilians before, but she can’t remember the last time she held a close friend and tried to soothe them. Especially with Adrien, this feels like uncharted territory.</p><p>Ladybug takes a deep breath, even as she feels Adrien shudder and hiccup against her chest. She can do this. She’s Ladybug. She and Chat Noir have taken down an entire army of akumas. They’ve saved Paris from destruction countless times. Ladybug can figure out how to comfort her sobbing friend.</p><p>“Adrien,” Ladybug says. She hesitantly reaches up and strokes his hair. “It’s okay.”</p><p>“N-no, it’s not,” Adrien mumbles against her shoulder. “I…I’m…”</p><p>“It’s okay to cry, I mean.”</p><p>Adrien’s arms tighten around her, even as he trembles in her arms.</p><p>Ladybug isn’t sure how long they stay like that—Adrien crying quietly against her, and her fingers smoothing his hair—but it’s long enough for her to formulate a strategy.</p><p>It feels a bit heartless, treating this like an akuma battle. But if she lets herself approach this as Adrien’s friend, she’ll break down crying, too.</p><p>Blinking away the sting in her eyes, Ladybug runs her hand up and down Adrien’s back.</p><p>Eventually, Adrien’s breathing returns to normal, and his sniffling fades. Ladybug reaches around him and grabs a few tissues off the table, then pushes them into one of his hands.</p><p>With a wet sniff, Adrien leans back and lifts the wad of tissues to his face. Ladybug feels a pang at the sight of his swollen eyes and red cheeks, and the trail of mucus running from his nose to his lips.</p><p>“S-sorry,” Adrien says, with a croaking laugh. “I guess I don’t look very photogenic right now.”</p><p><em>That doesn’t change anything, </em>Ladybug wants to say. She wants to tell him that tears and snot don’t change the fact that she cares about him, cares so deeply that she wants to march through Paris and tear apart every person who’s ever made him feel this way. She wants to tell him that no matter what, she’ll be there for him as his friend and confidante, someone he can always trust to support him and listen to him.</p><p>But she can’t say any of that, because she’s Ladybug, not Marinette. “You’re fine,” she says instead, leaning forward to grab another tissue. “Um, here.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Adrien takes the tissue and blots the rest of the tears and snot from his face. Then he rolls them into a ball and chucks them across the room, and Ladybug watches as the ball misses his trashcan by just a few centimeters.</p><p>“Not bad,” Ladybug says.</p><p>Adrien snorts. “I guess the basketball practice is paying off.” His eyes meet Ladybug’s, so close that she can see the flecks of gold in them. “Um, I…” He freezes, and then he snatches his arms back, stuttering. “Oh, I—s-sorry, I’m kind of sitting on your lap—or, not quite, but—”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Ladybug says, automatically grabbing his arms. If Adrien flails too much, he might accidentally smack one of them. “Would you feel better staying like this? I…I know that whenever my parents are comforting me about something, it’s nice to stay close.”</p><p>“I…I’d like that,” Adrien says. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”</p><p>“If my feet start falling asleep, I’ll let you know.” Ladybug gestures toward herself. “Come here.”</p><p>She maneuvers Adrien until he’s sitting on the cushion next to her, his legs draped across her lap and his head resting on her shoulder. He sighs, nuzzling against her.</p><p>“Are you comfortable talking?” Ladybug asks. “Or do you just want to sit?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Adrien says. “I…don’t even remember what I was saying, before I…”</p><p>“I do,” Ladybug says. “You said that people who don’t like you for being yourself aren’t actually your friends.”</p><p>“Right.” Adrien is silent for a moment, and Ladybug wonders if he’s dozed off in her arms. “I know that. But what I was trying to say is…” He sniffs. “I’m still afraid. Um, can I give an example?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“So…a few weeks ago, I was joking around in class. Uh, I started acting over-dramatic, and I pretended to die in Nino’s arms.” He laughs quietly. “Everyone was laughing, even the teacher.”</p><p>Ladybug remembers that—it was the Monday after the masquerade dance, the day she resolved to finally talk to Adrien like a normal person. Unfortunately, she’d blurted out something stupid the moment she walked into the room, and Adrien had distracted the class by clowning around.</p><p>“Okay,” Ladybug says. “So what went wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Adrien says. “But I got home that day, and I kept replaying it in my mind. Then I started to wonder if I’d acted stupid…and <em>then </em>I started to worry about which people thought I was stupid. I mean, it’s impossible for everyone to like me, right? Someone must have thought it was dumb.”</p><p>Ladybug closes her eyes, focusing on the weight of Adrien in her arms. She knows, from her own anxieties about failure, that it won’t help if she tells Adrien that everyone loves him. “I think you should focus on the people who <em>didn’t </em>think it was dumb,” she suggests. “Like…Alya and Nino, right? And Marinette?”</p><p>“They laughed,” Adrien says. “But maybe they thought it was dumb and cringey, and just didn’t want to say anything.”</p><p>More than ever, Ladybug wishes she could detransform and talk to Adrien as Marinette—because Adrien couldn’t be further from the truth. That Monday morning, Marinette had <em>loved</em> seeing Adrien laugh and joke around. He was jovial, free, eating up the attention as Alya filmed the entire thing. And for the rest of the day, Marinette kept replaying the video Alya sent her, laughing until her stomach hurt. If it was possible to hang videos on walls, Marinette would pin that one to the board above her bed.</p><p>Ladybug wasn’t there, though. She can’t tell Adrien any of that, and it’s too risky to lie and say that Marinette told her.</p><p>“You know…” Ladybug stares straight ahead, watching her reflection in Adrien’s windows. It’s a little distorted by the glass and the view outside, but she can see Adrien curled up against her, burrowing into her like a child who’s had a nightmare. “Sometimes people think their friends do dumb or cringey things, but they don’t care, because they’re <em>friends. </em>Even if your friends thought that, they wouldn’t think less of you.”</p><p>Adrien sighs. “I wish I could believe that,” he says. “I just can’t shake the feeling that whenever I act…well, different, that I’m doing something wrong.”</p><p>“Every time you’re imperfect, you mean,” Ladybug says.</p><p>She fights back a surge of irritation as she says the words. Hadn’t she just assured Adrien that afternoon that he doesn’t need to be perfect? That she loves his kindness and sense of humor, and the fact that he has flaws? He’d hugged her after that, but apparently her words didn’t stick.</p><p>How many times will she need to tell him the same thing? She’s starting to feel like one of those Ladybug dolls that says one of five sentences whenever it’s squeezed.</p><p>“That’s exactly what I mean,” Adrien says. “Ladybug, you don’t understand. My life isn’t…” His shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. “I <em>have </em>to be perfect. If I’m not, everything falls apart.”</p><p>“But it doesn’t,” Ladybug insists. “It doesn’t matter if you’re not perfect! No one is. The world isn’t going to end if you commit a faux pas.”</p><p>Her eyes flick back to their reflection in the windows, and she sees Adrien shake his head. “I can’t explain it to you,” he says. “It’s how I was raised. You can’t just say a few words and <em>Miraculous Ladybug </em>that away.”</p><p>Ladybug inhales slowly and deeply, trying to stay calm. She knows Adrien can be stubborn, because he’s <em>told </em>her that—but right now, he’s being particularly difficult. He isn’t even pretending to appreciate her efforts.</p><p>Then again, she wanted him to be more honest.</p><p>“Well, I’m sorry,” Ladybug says. “All I have are words. I can’t stick my yo-yo through your ear and purify your thoughts.” </p><p>Adrien shifts, twisting his torso to face her. “Ladybug.”</p><p>Ladybug glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Yes?”</p><p>After a moment’s hesitation, Adrien gently takes her hand. “Don’t take it personally. You’re a phenomenal person. Honestly, I—I admire you a lot. And I know you hate to hear this, but…this isn’t a problem you can solve.”</p><p>“I can fix—”</p><p>“No,” Adrien says. “You can’t. It’s my problem, not yours. You can give me advice, but I can’t even promise I’ll take it.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Adrien shrugs. “It’s hard.”</p><p>Ladybug isn’t going to lie and say that makes sense; if she had a problem, and someone told her how to fix it, she would listen to them. But she’s not about to argue with Adrien about that.</p><p>“Okay,” she says. “That’s fine. Um…<em>do </em>you want advice, then?”  </p><p>“I guess it can’t hurt.”</p><p>Ladybug nods to herself as she thinks. This has happened before during akuma fights—sometimes her plan doesn’t work at first, and she’s tempted to bulldoze her way through the problem. That never works, though. Ladybug can’t just force this problem to be fixed; she needs to find a different way to approach it.</p><p>“Adrien,” Ladybug says, squeezing his hand. “Let me try something. Kind of like an…exercise.”</p><p>“Yoga?”</p><p>Ladybug snorts. “You can do that on your own time.”</p><p>“I’m pretty flexible,” Adrien says. “I bet I’d be good at it.”</p><p>Ladybug tries to stop herself from picturing Adrien in a downward dog pose. She also fails.</p><p>“Okay,” Ladybug says, cheeks burning. “Um, I know it’s hard to believe that people want to be your friends, but—can you think of one person?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Adrien’s gaze is too intense, and Ladybug’s eyes drop to their joined hands. “You know,” she says. “Someone you trust to support you. Who would listen to you if you needed to talk about your problems.”</p><p>“I think I’d rather do yoga,” Adrien mutters. Ladybug sighs, and he adds, “I’m sorry, Ladybug. I’m just not comfortable talking about these things.”</p><p>“You don’t have to talk to anyone!” Ladybug says. “But, uh…it might still help to…”</p><p>She trails off, her free hand curling into a fist. There must be <em>something </em>she can suggest.</p><p>“Ladybug, it’s okay,” Adrien says. “Knowing that you care enough to try to help—that means a lot to me. It’s fine if you—”</p><p>“Hold on,” Ladybug says. “I’m thinking.”</p><p>Adrien isn’t willing to talk to anyone—which Ladybug still needs to fix—but maybe, for now, it’s just important for him to feel supported.</p><p>And Ladybug knows, firsthand, what it’s like to feel adrift and alone. The first akuma battle that she and Chat Noir fought together, she had no idea what she was doing. Becoming a superhero was scary, and overwhelming, and Ladybug just wanted to go home, climb into bed, and hide under the covers. She even tried to give away her Miraculous—which, fortunately, Tikki has forgiven her for.</p><p>During that battle, though, one thing Ladybug <em>did </em>know was that Chat Noir trusted her. He thought she could succeed, and in the end, she did.</p><p>Of course, at one point, the thought of someone believing in her so wholeheartedly was terrifying. Whenever Ladybug caught a Lucky Charm and didn’t know what to do, she felt pressured by Chat’s expectations. She wasn’t as amazing as he thought she was. She would never live up to his vision of her.</p><p>But then she realized that she could take his trust and turn it into something else: confidence.</p><p>“I…let me tell you something,” Ladybug says. “It’s kind of personal, but it might help.”</p><p>“Okay,” Adrien says. “I mean, you don’t have to, but—”</p><p>“I’m happy to!” Ladybug says. “Just don’t tell Chat Noir.”</p><p>“Um.” Adrien’s eyes widen. “Hold on. Maybe we should—”</p><p>“When I first became Ladybug, I questioned every move I made,” Ladybug says. “I kept thinking, <em>How can an entire city trust two teenagers like this? </em>For those few weeks—well, months, really—I couldn’t believe that an entire city relied on us. And…and sometimes, I couldn’t even believe in myself.”</p><p>“What?” Adrien asks. “Really? But—you…” He frowns. His thumb moves back and forth, stroking one of Ladybug’s fingers, and she wonders if he even notices that he’s doing it. “I never noticed.”</p><p>“You’re not the only one who can fake it,” Ladybug murmurs. “Anyway, I thought I was a complete mess, so I couldn’t believe that Chat Noir relied on me so much. In fact, I thought he was crazy at first.”</p><p>“Well,” Adrien says. “He can be a little weird.”</p><p>“And in the beginning,” Ladybug continues, “I didn’t believe that someone could actually be that supportive. Any time I messed up during an akuma battle, I thought Chat Noir would instantly lose that confidence in me.”</p><p>“He would never,” Adrien says.</p><p>“He wouldn’t,” Ladybug agrees, though she wonders how Adrien can sound so sure. “And that’s a big part of why I’m so confident as a superhero. Because no matter what, I have someone who supports me, and who doesn’t care if I screw up.” Taking a deep breath, Ladybug finally meets Adrien’s eyes. “I know you have people like that, Adrien. So, if your friends tell you they’re supporting you…can you try to believe them, at least?”</p><p>Adrien wets his lips. “I…well, I…they don’t really <em>say…”</em></p><p>Ladybug raises her eyebrows.</p><p>“Right,” Adrien says. “I guess that could be because they don’t realize they need to say it.” He sighs heavily, and his fingers find the charm bracelet again. “B-but, um…well, Marinette did say something like that earlier.” He hangs his head, blond hair shimmering against his cheek. “It’s just…”</p><p>“What is it?” Ladybug asks quietly.</p><p>“It’s just so hard to <em>believe,” </em>Adrien says. “I know what you’re telling me—what she’s telling me, too—but it just…feels like a lie.”</p><p>“I guess you just have to ignore that voice in your head, then,” Ladybug says. She squeezes Adrien’s shoulder. “I know it’s difficult, but I believe in you.”</p><p>“Right.” Adrien offers her a small smile. “I’ll…do that, then.” He frowns. “But I’m still not comfortable talking to my friends about this. Not even Marinette.”</p><p>Ladybug tries not to let that sting, but it does. As Marinette, she’s tried so hard to make Adrien feel safe and supported…and yet, he only feels comfortable talking to <em>Ladybug </em>about this? He barely knows Ladybug!</p><p>Then again, he has nothing to lose with Ladybug. They rarely see each other, so it might not matter as much to him if he makes a bad impression.</p><p>It makes sense. But it doesn’t make her feel any better.</p><p>“That’s okay,” Ladybug forces out. “As long as you know that she supports you. Um, and your other friends, of course! They care about you, too.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Adrien murmurs. “But…I feel like Marinette is the only person who sees me.”  </p><p>For a moment, Ladybug’s mind goes blank. It’s true that she’s always tried to see Adrien for who he is, and to ignore the magazines and photoshoots and perfume ads. (Well, for the most part. She did have the perfume ad playing on loop for about a week.) But Adrien’s other friends do that, too—she isn’t special in that regard.</p><p>The closer she gets to Adrien, though, the more she realizes that there’s a wall between him and the rest of the world. Maybe that’s what Adrien means, then: that Marinette sees the wall.</p><p>Or maybe, despite that barrier, Adrien somehow still feels seen.</p><p>Not sure what to say, Ladybug gives Adrien’s hand a light squeeze. “W-well, it’s good that you have each other. I mean—not that you two are, you know—”</p><p>“I’m glad, too. I…” Adrien trails off, his jaw stretching in a yawn. “Sorry. I guess all that crying made me tired.”</p><p>Ladybug keeps the smile plastered on her face, even as her heart crumbles at the memory of Adrien sobbing in her arms. “I’ll let you get some rest, then.”</p><p>Reluctantly, she lets go of Adrien, and he swings his legs so that his feet are planted on the floor again. He stands and walks over to the window, prompting Ladybug to follow him.</p><p>“Thank you, Ladybug,” Adrien says. “Really. I know I’m hard to help, but…”</p><p>“I’m happy to help!” Ladybug says. “And, um—is it alright if I come by another time, to check on you?”</p><p>“You’re that worried I’ll get akumatized?”</p><p>“No!” Ladybug says. “I mean, of course that would be bad, but that’s not the only reason.”</p><p>“It’s not?”</p><p>“No,” Ladybug says. Throwing caution to the wind, she adds, “Really, I came here because Marinette was so worried that she couldn’t sleep until I checked on you.”</p><p>Adrien’s forehead wrinkles. “I didn’t mean to make her ups—”</p><p>“Stop right there,” Ladybug says, holding up a hand. “If Marinette keeps herself awake worrying about you, that’s her own fault. My point is, I’m here because someone cared about you so much that they sent a <em>superhero </em>to make sure you’re alright, so don’t you dare doubt that you’re loved.”</p><p>Face hot, she clamps her mouth shut.</p><p>Did she just declare her love to Adrien?</p><p>Not romantically, maybe. But she definitely just told Adrien, in a roundabout way, that she loves him.</p><p>Ladybug clenches her jaw. She wants to take back the words, the same way she deleted that voicemail on Adrien’s phone, the same way she’s chickened out every time she tried to confess.</p><p>But she won’t. Because Adrien is looking at her with shining eyes, and a fresh tear drips from his lashes onto his pink cheek. His mouth tilts up in a wobbly smile. “I—thank you,” Adrien says, voice thick. “Tell Marinette I said thank you, Ladybug. And…and I worry about her, too. So, if you could keep checking on her from time to time…?”</p><p>Ladybug barely resists the urge to say, <em>Actually, Chat Noir has that covered. </em>Instead, she nods. “Sure! I will. Um, I guess I should get going now, so, unless there’s something else…”</p><p>“No.” Adrien smiles, and another tear winds down his cheek. “Good night, Ladybug.”</p><p>“Good night, Adrien.” Ladybug pushes the window open, but before she can grab her yo-yo, Adrien’s hand on her arm stops her.</p><p>“And, um…” He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “What you said about Chat Noir was really sweet, so…I think maybe you should tell <em>him</em> that. Not just me.”</p><p>Ladybug blinks at Adrien. Tell her partner how much he means to her? No, she’s not brave enough to do that.</p><p>Then she remembers her last failed conversation with Chat, when she tried to call him handsome and inadvertently ended up insulting him. Maybe Adrien is right. Maybe <em>that’s </em>what Chat needs to hear.</p><p>“I’ll try,” Ladybug says. “Sleep well, Adrien.”</p><p>With a wave, she throws her yo-yo and swings into the night, praying that her reassurances will stick this time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Also, please check out this <a href="https://luminousinthedark.tumblr.com/post/627906613849833472/this-comic-goes-to-my-friend-ominousunflower">hilarious mini comic</a> drawn by my awesome friend Minou <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsitivestars">(PawsitiveStars)</a>, who was inspired by the throwaway line about a Chat Noir booty spotlight 😂</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoops. Sorry, y'all. Meant to upload this on Thursday, but better late than never. (Hopefully there are no errors, lol. I didn't want to spend any longer proofreading before posting.)</p><p><b>Minor warning:</b> Ladybug kinda has a mini panic attack during this chapter--I don't think it's too severe, but I figured it was better to warn people who are affected by that sort of thing so that they aren't caught off-guard. If you want to skip/skim that, it starts when Chat asks, "Are you okay?" and ends around <i>Sluggishly, thoughts slip back into her mind.</i></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning, Marinette wakes up to an all-caps text from Alya.</p><p><strong>Alya: </strong>WHAT DID YOU DO</p><p>Heart pounding, Marinette sits upright and stares at her phone screen.</p><p>Did Alya somehow find out about Ladybug’s visit to Adrien the night before? Did Marinette blurt out something offensive to Adrien without realizing it? Did the cheap leather jacket she gave Adrien cause his rich model skin to break out in hives?</p><p>Marinette’s finger hovers over the call button. She’s afraid to find out what exactly she did, but finding out now is better than frantically pacing around her room for the next hour.</p><p>With a deep breath, Marinette hits the call button, then tucks her blanket under her chin.</p><p>Alya answers the video call on the first ring. “I need details,” she says, before the camera has even focused on her face.</p><p>The camera sharpens, showing Alya in her desk chair, bright-eyed and dressed. Marinette squints at the corner of her phone and realizes that it’s almost noon.</p><p>“Details about what?” Marinette says.</p><p>“Adrien, obviously.”</p><p>“Did something happen?” Marinette asks, eyes widening. “Is he okay?”</p><p>Her mind races with stomach-turning possibilities. A robbery? Marinette would never forgive herself if Adrien got attacked by a burglar just after Ladybug left. Or what if Ladybug’s words were the opposite of helpful, and Adrien had a mental breakdown after she left? She shudders at the thought of his broken sobs from the night before.</p><p>“Physically?” Alya says. “Fine. Emotionally? Decent. Romantically?” Alya clucks her tongue and leans back in her chair. “You tell me.”</p><p>Marinette stares at her phone. “I—wait, doesn’t <em>emotionally </em>include romance?”</p><p>“Now isn’t the time for nitpicking!” Alya declares. “Now is the time for <em>answers.”</em></p><p>“Alya,” Marinette snaps. “You gave me a heart attack! I thought Adrien was hurt.”</p><p>“He might be,” Alya says, wagging a finger at the camera. “Now that he’s been visited by Marinette Bourreau des Cœurs.”</p><p>“I—what?” Marinette says. “I’m not a heartbreaker! What are you talking about?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Alya says. “What <em>am </em>I talking about?”</p><p>Marinette runs a hand through her tangled hair, her fingers lodging on a knot. It’s too early to deal with Alya’s cryptic questioning. (Well, technically it’s noon—but Marinette just woke up, which means it’s early.)</p><p>“Alya,” Marinette says, slowly. “Do you actually know what you’re talking about?”</p><p>“I do not,” Alya says. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”</p><p>Groaning, Marinette flops back on her pillow. “Let’s start with why you called me?”</p><p>“Right,” Alya says. “According to my sources, Adrien was flirting with you yesterday, and you turned him down.”</p><p>“What?” Marinette screeches. She sits back up, fingers squeezing her phone as she holds it close to her face. “What are you talking about? Adrien didn’t—and I—Alya, <em>what?”</em></p><p>“So maybe I misinterpreted my sources.”</p><p>“When did Adrien flirt with me?”</p><p>“Yesterday in his room? When you two were playing dress-up?”</p><p>“We were brainstorming!”</p><p>“Maybe,” Alya says. “But you were also playing dress-up. And flirting.”</p><p>“And what are your sources?”</p><p>“I thought you’d never ask.” Alya swivels in her desk chair and props her phone up against something, then grabs her computer mouse and starts clicking around. “I’ve compiled all of my evidence in a file on my computer, since I figured you’d need convincing.”</p><p>“Compile as much as you want,” Marinette grumbles. “Adrien wasn’t flirting with me.”</p><p>“Exhibit A,” Alya says, undeterred. “Adrien texted Nino yesterday morning asking him how to flirt.”</p><p>“That’s just normal talk between friends,” Marinette says. “Also, should we really be talking about Adrien’s conversations with Nino? It feels like an invasion of privacy.”</p><p>Alya squints at the camera. “Are you the real Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”</p><p>“I’m just saying…”</p><p>“You don’t think the timing is suspicious?” Alya presses. “Adrien asked Nino about flirting <em>right before </em>you visited him.”</p><p>“We don’t know what he was doing that morning!”</p><p>“Thinking about you, probably.” Alya snorts. “My next piece of evidence—which is actually a complete mystery, but I feel like it’s significant—”</p><p>“So we’re just throwing things at a wall to see what sticks?”</p><p>“Riddle me this,” Alya says. “While he was with you, Adrien texted me to ask if it’s possible to have temporary lapses of tritan color blindness.”</p><p>“Temporary <em>what?” </em>Marinette shakes her head. “Alya, I just woke up. I’m too tired for this.”</p><p>“Tritan color blindness causes people to confuse blue with green,” Alya says. “Obviously, Adrien doesn’t have that, and according to my research, it’s really rare to experience random bouts of it.”</p><p>Marinette glances at Tikki, who’s floating off to the side, looking just as perplexed as she feels. “Why did Adrien think he has…whatever that is?”</p><p>“He wanted to know if your eyes are blue,” Alya says. “The end of his first text was, quote, <em>Oh my god Alya I thought Marinette had blue eyes but what if they’re actually green?” </em></p><p>“He texted you that while he was with me?”</p><p>Marinette frowns at the pictures on her corkboard, one of them a picture of her and Adrien at the park together. The drowsiness in her mind compels her to forget this Adrien business and wander downstairs for lunch—but the problem-solving part of her brain is itching to sink its teeth into this puzzle.</p><p>“Yeah,” Alya says. “Were you having a conversation about your eyes, or something?”</p><p>“Not that I remember. I mean, he was talking about <em>other </em>people’s eyes, but…wait.” Marinette glances at Tikki for help, but Tikki simply shrugs and flits across the room. “Um. Well, he <em>was </em>talking about someone he has a crush on, and I know they have blue eyes. But Alya, I’d rather not gossip about Adrien’s—”</p><p>“Marinette!” Alya says, pounding a fist against her desk. “You know what this means!”</p><p>“It doesn’t <em>mean </em>anything,” Marinette says. “Let’s not jump to conclusions! I bet he was—um—”</p><p>“Trying to tell you he likes you?”</p><p>“No, I’m sure he was—”</p><p>“Wondering if you eyes were actually green instead, because <em>how else </em>could you miss an obvious clue like that?”</p><p>“It’s not an obvious clue!” Marinette says. “There are plenty of alternate explanations.”</p><p>Alya gives her a flat look. “Like what?”</p><p>“W-well—maybe he sent the text when he was picking out clothes for me!” Marinette says. “Now that I think about it, he did mention that a blue shirt brought out my eyes. Maybe he texted you right before that, just to make sure he had my eye color right.”</p><p>“Ah! That brings me to my next piece of evidence.” Alya turns back to her computer screen. “Adrien dressed you in his clothes and said that you looked cute.”</p><p>Marinette’s stomach grumbles, and she sighs. “That was a normal compli—wait. How did you know he said that to me?”</p><p>“Wait,” Alya echoes. “He said that to your face?”</p><p>“When else did he say it?” Marinette asks, squinting at Alya. Alya’s version of events seems like the complete opposite of what Marinette remembers: a nice, friendly afternoon, occasionally fraught by Adrien’s insecurities.</p><p>“When he sent Nino and me a picture of you,” Alya says.</p><p>“He did <em>what?”</em></p><p>“Okay, so, first you sent the picture of Adrien in the yellow suit, which—thank you. That was hilarious.” Alya snickers. “Then Adrien texted us a picture of you. Before I opened the picture, I assumed it was retaliation, but here’s what he said.” She clears her throat, then reads off her screen, <em>“Doesn’t she look great? I’ve never seen Marinette in a suit before, but I really hope she wears one again.”</em></p><p>“That’s not the same as calling me cute!” Marinette says. A strange feeling, almost like relief, courses through her. “He’s just commenting on the fact that the suit was flattering, which it was.”</p><p>“I’m not done,” Alya says. “Nino and I replied and told him that you looked awesome—because of course you did! Then Adrien sent five more pictures, and, like, a dozen messages gushing about how cute you are.”</p><p>Marinette raises an eyebrow. “I get the feeling you’re exaggerating.”</p><p>“Alright, Mademoiselle Skeptic,” Alya says. <em>“Look how the sleeves are too long and cover her hands, isn’t that adorable? </em>And, <em>I’m not sure if floral patterns and stripes go together, but this outfit still looks good! I guess Marinette looks cute in everything.”</em></p><p>Marinette stares at Alya, her hands tightening around the phone. “You—you’re paraphrasing.”</p><p>“Hold on.” Alya swipes her phone screen, pausing the video call. A second later, a text message with an image attachment appears on Marinette’s phone. “There. I sent you a screenshot.” </p><p>Rolling her eyes, Marinette opens the image and sees—well, the exact words Alya just spoke a few seconds ago. “But—he—”</p><p>“Not so smug now, hm?” Alya says. “But forget that. You said he <em>told you </em>you’re cute? Marinette, how can you doubt that he’s into you?”</p><p><em>Forget that, </em>Alya says, as if Marinette’s world isn’t currently tipping over like a precarious stack of dishes.</p><p>“Y-you said that about Charles,” Marinette says. The night of the school dance, after Alya danced with a disguised Chat Noir and asked him about Marinette, she’d incorrectly deduced that ‘Charles’ had feelings for Marinette. “And you were wrong that time!”</p><p>“No, I was right,” Alya says. “Charles is definitely in love with you. Like, madly.”</p><p>“He’s not!”</p><p>“Has he <em>said </em>that?”</p><p>“He doesn’t have to,” Marinette says. For some reason, she feels like she’s dancing on a precipice, dodging jabs from Alya that threaten to send her tumbling. “And as for Adrien telling me I’m cute, I—I’m trying not to think about that.”</p><p>“Oh? Because you can’t explain that away?”</p><p>“I can,” Marinette says. She automatically memorizes every compliment Adrien ever pays her, which means she remembers enough to analyze them. “Both times he called me cute, it was hypothetical. He said he thought I <em>would look </em>cute in his clothes, and then when I asked him why he picked the pink suit, he said I <em>would look </em>cute. And he took back the second compliment!”</p><p>Alya’s features twist into a scowl. “He retracted it? He said you <em>weren’t </em>cute?”</p><p>“No! He would never! He couldn’t even admit that I looked bad in chartreuse and neon orange.”</p><p>“Indeed, he couldn’t,” Alya says. “Hold on. I have his commentary on that outfit, too…<em>These colors look awful, right? I’m pretty sure Marinette is trying to make me say she looks bad, but honestly, she’s so pretty that I don’t even notice.”</em></p><p>“You made that one up,” Marinette says. A moment later, her phone vibrates with another message from Alya. Sighing, Marinette opens the message and reads the screenshot. “Okay, you…didn’t make that one up.”</p><p>“So why did he take back the second compliment?”</p><p>“He was worried that he made me uncomfortable.”</p><p>“That’s not a retraction!” Alya says. “That’s respecting your boundaries. You probably got awkward when he said that, so he took it back.”</p><p>Marinette sighs. She’s lost arguments with Alya before, but usually she puts up more of a fight. “He also texted me that I was pretty after I left,” she admits, though her last few words are drowned out by Alya’s excited yell.</p><p>“Marinette!” she says, eyes gleaming. “Adrien definitely likes you. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he texts me or Nino later today for advice on asking you out.”</p><p>Strangely, Marinette’s stomach drops at the thought. So soon?</p><p>For some reason, she feels like things are moving too quickly. And yet, she’s wanted to be with Adrien for the longest time. She’s daydreamed, and doodled, and drawn up lists of hamster names—but now that there’s a possibility he might ask her out…she’s not ready.</p><p>How can she not be ready?</p><p>“Um, if he does,” Marinette says, “tell him to wait until after the competition. I need to focus on my designs right now.”</p><p>Alya’s jaw literally drops. “Marinette! That competition is in—”</p><p>She breaks off, and Marinette hears a dull knocking sound from the phone speaker, followed by a muffled voice speaking in the background.</p><p>“Yes, maman,” Alya says. “Sorry! I’ll keep it down.” Leaning close to the phone, she hisses, “Marinette, that competition is in months. You want Adrien to wait <em>months </em>to ask you out?”</p><p>“I’ll get distracted if I’m dating him!” Marinette protests.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Alya says. “Usually you jump for joy at the slightest possibility that Adrien might like you. What changed?”</p><p>“I—I’m just trying to be realistic,” Marinette says, voice faltering. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”</p><p>“Realistic?” Alya scoffs. “You sound like you’re in denial.” She holds the phone up to her face, close enough that Marinette can see a zit under her nose. “Marinette, this isn’t a stretch. I’m not grasping at straws. These are tell-tale signs of Adrien having a crush on you!”</p><p>“So…?”</p><p>“Why aren’t you more excited?”</p><p>“I am,” Marinette says weakly. “It’s great! I just have too much going on right now. It’s hard to be excited about a boy when I’m drowning in responsibilities.”</p><p>It’s true, isn’t it? Marinette has commissions, and the competition, and her duties as class president, and work at the bakery—not to mention patrolling and fighting evil as Ladybug. How is she supposed to do all of that <em>and </em>date Adrien? Adrien mentioned before that her schedule is busy. He’ll understand why he has to wait until the competition is over.</p><p>“A boy,” Alya repeats. “A boy, she says. Marinette, this is <em>the </em>boy. Adrien Agreste. The love of your life.”</p><p>“I know, but…”</p><p>But what? Marinette doesn’t even know how that sentence ends.</p><p>For a moment, Alya is silent, and Marinette vainly hopes that she’ll give up. Everything Marinette said is technically true, after all. She does have a lot on her plate. Alya can’t possibly doubt that.</p><p>Then Alya snaps her fingers, her face lighting up with a eureka. “Wait! You brought up Charles even though I hadn’t mentioned him. That means you were thinking about him!”</p><p>“No, it doesn’t,” Marinette says. She glances at the corkboard again, and this time, her eyes land on the photo of her and Chat Noir from the night of the masquerade dance. Her fingers itch to run across the shiny paper. “I was just…because you said…”</p><p>“Wow,” Alya says, eyebrows raised. “I mean, there was a <em>second </em>where I thought maybe you would move on to Luka, but as soon as Adrien visited the Liberty, I knew there wasn’t a chance. But with Charles—Marinette, I could actually see you going for him.”</p><p>“You only met him once!” Marinette says. “You only saw us together one time.”</p><p>“Yeah, and that’s how ridiculously couple-like you two were,” Alya says. “I only needed a few hours to realize that this guy is a serious contender.”</p><p>Marinette shakes her head, even as her stomach bubbles with a mixture of anxiety and giddiness. She wants Alya to stop—but she also takes a strange delight in what Alya is saying.</p><p>Is Chat’s affection for Marinette really so obvious, that Alya noticed it? Marinette has been telling herself that Chat couldn’t feel that way about her, when he has such strong feelings for Ladybug. But maybe…</p><p>Why does Marinette feel like she’s swinging across Paris, where there’s the heady pull of gravity just before her yo-yo propels her back into the air? She never felt this when she realized her crush on Adrien. With him, their fingers brushed, and she met his eyes, and she knew that she’d fallen. She blushed, she stuttered, she got butterflies. That was it—she was in love.</p><p>This is different. Like falling and flying—like stepping into a bath that could either be ice cold or burning hot—like drinking from a thermos that could be full of either hot chocolate or cough syrup.</p><p>It’s unpredictable. Dangerous. It’s something Marinette has desperately tried to avoid, only to be drawn in time and time again.</p><p>Chat Noir.</p><p>Marinette feels like laughing and gasping in horror at the same time. Because she’d convinced herself, foolishly, that her feelings for Chat weren’t inevitable, that she could escape them if she ignored them long enough.</p><p>But this feeling winds itself around her legs, burrows into her heart, and she realizes that it was sneaking up on her the entire time she looked away.</p><p>Marinette knows what will happen if she ends up with Adrien—or at least, she has a general idea. That’s a possibility she prepared for. It’s an outcome she anticipated.</p><p>But she forced herself not to consider Chat. Now, unprepared, she’s being plunged into uncharted waters.</p><p>“You look like you just had a revelation,” Alya says. “Am I right?”</p><p>“Charles is just a friend,” Marinette blurts out.</p><p>Alya rolls her eyes. “Where have I heard <em>that </em>before? Adrien said that about you, once, and now look what happened.”</p><p>“I like Adrien,” Marinette says, hoping that will overpower the uncertainty. Maybe if she reminds herself of her feelings for Adrien, it will make her forget the realization hurtling toward her like a comet.</p><p>“Are you going to ask him out?” Alya asks. “Charles, I mean.”</p><p>“He likes someone else,” Marinette automatically replies. She can feel her brain shutting down, panic creeping in.</p><p>She should hang up. She needs time to scream into a pillow with no one but her kwami watching her.  </p><p>“I know he <em>says </em>that,” Alya says, “but he could say the same of you!” She hums to herself. “Maybe you could invite him to hang out with us again. That way I can gather evidence and—”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says, shaking the phone. “I don’t want evidence, or help, or advice. Just—stop trying to set me up with people who don’t like me back!”</p><p>She clamps her mouth shut. Her eyes sting from the force of the words.</p><p>
  <em>Like me back.</em>
</p><p>Isn’t that basically an admission?</p><p>Marinette thought she had it figured out. Her attraction to Chat was physical: his muscles, his gorgeous smile, his sparkling eyes were what drew her in. Every flutter in her heart, every time she wanted to fall into his arms, was just her teenage hormones responding to him.</p><p>But physical attraction doesn’t explain why she wants to dance with him on a rooftop, or why she enjoys flirting with him, or why she feels like she’s floating whenever she hears him knock on her skylight.</p><p>She underestimated her feelings. She’s done that before during akuma battles—has seen an enemy with powers that seem weak<em>, </em>and then been knocked off her feet by a hit she didn’t see coming.</p><p>Marinette is terrified by how wrong she was.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Alya says. “Look, I—I know you’d be really happy with either of these guys, which is why I’m so excited. But I guess it’s not as easy as looking at the evidence and coming to a conclusion.” She presses her lips into a thin line, brow creased. “Do you want me to come over? I can bring ice cream and let you beat me at video games.”</p><p>Marinette sighs. “No. I appreciate it, but…I think I just need to be alone and process things. I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”</p><p>“Okay,” Alya says, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening. “I’m sorry if I was pushy. I didn’t realize things were that complicated.”</p><p>“You have no idea,” Marinette murmurs, glancing at the picture of Chat in his burgundy mask. “But I’m not mad! Everything you said, I…I think I needed to hear that. I kind of hate it, but you’re right.”</p><p>Alya nods slowly. “Take care, alright? And if you <em>do </em>need advice, let me know. I won’t leave you to deal with love troubles on your own.”</p><p>Marinette smiles. “You just want to get the scoop before anyone else does.”</p><p>“That has nothing to do with it! That’s just a perk of being your best friend.”</p><p>“Alright,” Marinette says. “I’ll let you know. I, um—I should probably get lunch now, so…I’ll talk to you later!”</p><p>She ends the call before Alya can finish saying goodbye—and then she tosses the phone at the foot of her bed and flops backward, arms spread to the side.</p><p>Something builds in Marinette’s lungs. She rolls onto her stomach and buries her face in her cat pillow just in time to scream.</p><p>“Marinette,” Tikki says. “Take deep breaths! You…”</p><p>Marinette groans, and then the swell of emotion turns to something that tickles her skin. She kicks her legs behind her, face still buried in the soft warmth of her pillow as a smile stretches her lips.</p><p>She lets out a laugh, and the pillow swallows the sound—so Marinette rolls onto her back again, allowing her diaphragm to expand as laughter bubbles from her lips.</p><p>“I—I was so wrong,” Marinette says, laughing uncontrollably. “He—he’s not just <em>sexy. </em>I’m in love with him.”</p><p>Tears prick her eyes, but she can’t stop grinning. It’s two-sided—like night and day, yin and yang, creation and destruction.</p><p>Like Ladybug and Chat Noir.  </p><p>“Oh, my god,” Marinette says. “I’m in love with Chat Noir.”</p><p>“Marinette?” Tikki asks.</p><p>“I’m in love with him.” Marinette can’t help but keep saying it, because there’s something so enticing about the flavor of those words, foreign and sweet and dangerous.</p><p>“That’s not a bad thing!”</p><p>“It is,” Marinette says. “I mean, it’s great! I feel great. But I also feel like I’m going to be sick.” She scoots to the edge of her mattress, letting her feet dangle over the stairs. “I, um…I think I’m actually going to throw up.”</p><p>“Maybe you should get a drink of water,” Tikki says. She hovers in front of Marinette, eyes wide with concern. “You seem overwhelmed!”</p><p>“Of course I’m overwhelmed! This is <em>Chat. </em>He doesn’t do anything in halves, and that includes making me fall in love with him.”</p><p>“He didn’t really <em>make </em>you.”</p><p>“I know,” Marinette groans. “I did this to myself. This is my fault.”</p><p>Tikki giggles. “There are worse things!”</p><p>“Like being in love with two people? Oh, wait. That’s right. I am.” Marinette sighs. “I’m in <em>love </em>with him.”</p><p>Tikki sighs and shakes her head. It occurs to Marinette that in Tikki’s many centuries as a kwami, she’s probably witnessed her fair share of love-related breakdowns.</p><p>“How many times can I say that before the words stop sounding like words?” Marinette wonders. “I’m in love with Chat Noir. I’m in love with Chat Noir. I…no, they still sound like words.” She swallows as a bit of bile coats her tongue. “And I still feel like I might pass out.”</p><p>“You’re getting too excited,” Tikki says, antennae drooping slightly. “Maybe you should go make some tea and calm down!”</p><p>“Good idea.” Marinette rushes down the stairs and crouches by her trap door, then pauses. “Do you remember when I made tea for Chat after the masquerade dance? And he helped me carry the tray upstairs, because we were worried I’d drop it?”</p><p>It’s completely mundane, not a story worth telling—in fact, it’s not really a story at all. The memory makes Marinette smile, though.</p><p>“Oh! And then he helped me with my dress,” Marinette says, her cheeks burning. “He was so flustered…it’s sweet, isn’t it? How polite he is?” Sighing, Marinette rocks back on her heels and drags her hands down her face. “What am I doing? Why can’t I stop saying stupid things?”</p><p>Tikki giggles. “You already know why.”</p><p>“Because I’m in <em>love.” </em>Abandoning her quest for tea, Marinette throws herself back on the floor, not caring that the hard ground hurts her back. “And I’m an idiot.”</p><p>“You’re not,” Tikki says. “You haven’t done anything wrong! I told you before that it’s normal for Ladybugs to feel this way about their Black Cats.”</p><p>Marinette wants to point out that there’s nothing <em>normal </em>about this. She’s never felt this peculiar combination of joy and anxiety. But her brain has decided to reduce her vocabulary to adjectives that describe Chat, so she doesn’t even bother trying to articulate her thoughts.</p><p>Before Marinette can start rambling about Chat’s bravery or kindness or incredible ass, her phone vibrates on the bed.</p><p>“Can you check that?” Marinette mumbles. “I’m in love.”</p><p>Tikki laughs again as she flies up to check Marinette’s phone. A moment later, she squeaks. “Marinette! There’s an akuma by the Louvre.”</p><p>At first, Marinette’s heart soars at the thought that she’ll get to see Chat—Chat, who she wants to hold close, and confess her love to, and kiss until she runs out of breath and passes out in his arms.</p><p>Then the horror sets in.</p><p>“Oh, no,” Marinette says, sitting up so quickly that her vision swims. “Tikki, no! I can’t see Chat right now!”</p><p>“You have to put that aside!” Tikki says.</p><p>Stomach fluttering, Marinette jumps to her feet and calls out her transformation, then rushes outside and swings toward the Louvre.</p><p>Almost immediately—because apparently, she’s got none of her Ladybug luck left—she runs into Chat Noir.</p><p>Literally.</p><p>He grunts as Ladybug knocks him flat on his back and lands on top of him. Cheeks warm, Ladybug braces herself, anticipating an eyebrow waggle or flirtatious comment.</p><p>“Careful,” Chat says, claws grazing her sides. “Are you alright?”</p><p>His body is warm beneath hers, and Ladybug swears her heart is beating two hundred times a minute. Her eyes are glued to his gaze, soft and bright.</p><p>Those are the eyes she’s in love with.</p><p>“I’m great!” Ladybug scrambles off him and crabwalks backward. “You’re great. Have I ever told you that you’re great? Because you are!”</p><p>“Uh.” Chat blinks his gorgeous green eyes. “Did you get hit by an akuma?”</p><p>“No,” Ladybug says. “B-but I got hit by something, alright. Stings a little.”</p><p>She smiles tightly, gritting her teeth. <em>Cupid’s arrow, </em>she thinks. <em>Get it? Because I’m horribly in love with you!</em></p><p>Her insides squirm at the thought, almost like her veins are trying to reject the love running through them. It feels like her head is getting smaller, squeezing her brain, all while her lungs shrink, too.</p><p>She’s in love with him—but he’s her partner, her best friend. She’s not <em>supposed </em>to be in love with him.</p><p>“Right,” Chat says slowly. “Uh, after the battle, we should maybe talk about potential head injuries?”</p><p>Ladybug laughs, and immediately regrets wasting precious air. “It’s more my heart than my head, really.”</p><p>“Are you okay?” Chat crawls toward her, his tail dragging behind him. “You look a little ill.”</p><p>“No. I mean, yes.” Ladybug frowns, taking stock of her dizzy head, her palpitating heart, her trembling body. “I…think I might be panicking?”</p><p>Chat reaches forward, then pauses, his fingers hovering centimeters from her arm. “Like—like <em>actual </em>panicking? A panic attack?”</p><p>“I’m just a little worked up,” Ladybug says shakily. “Le Papillon k-kind of had bad timing.”</p><p>Chat curses under his breath. “Okay. I…okay. The akuma can wait.” His fingers brush against her arm, almost too light to feel through her suit. “Can I carry you? We should move so that we’re not out in the open.”</p><p>Ladybug nods. A moment later, warm arms wrap around her, pulling her against Chat’s chest. Her feet leave the ground as he stands, cradling her to his chest.</p><p>“Is this okay?” he murmurs.</p><p>She manages a nod.</p><p>“Okay,” he says. “Um, deep breaths…”</p><p>Ladybug curls against his body, her cheek pressed against the strange material of his suit. She can almost feel his heart pounding—or maybe that’s just her head spinning.</p><p>Chat starts to move. Ladybug tries to remember any tips she’s ever read about managing anxiety, but her mind is a blank roar. She’s lost in panic, waiting for it to subside or be chased away.  </p><p>She feels a dip as Chat sits down. He doesn’t let go of her, though, keeping his arms wrapped around her as he pulls her onto his lap.</p><p>Hands clenched into fists, Ladybug keeps her face pressed to his chest. Claws tug at her hair, and the magical ties fall out, letting her hair fall across her shoulders. Then Chat’s fingers start stroking evenly, rhythmically, gently scraping against her scalp.</p><p>“Ladybug,” Chat murmurs. “Can you inhale for four, and hold for eight? And then exhale?”</p><p>The words don’t sound like words, but Ladybug knows what exercise Chat is talking about. She inhales through her nose as his voice softly counts to four—but then she loses her breath halfway through the eight count.</p><p>“Sorry,” she mutters. “I—I messed up.”</p><p>She made a mistake. She didn’t keep her feelings in check—and now, while an akuma terrorizes the city, Ladybug and Chat Noir are nowhere to be found.</p><p>“That’s okay,” Chat says. “We’ll try again. Breathe, one, two, three, four…”</p><p>This time, Ladybug makes it through all the counts. Then she repeats the exercise, following the instructions Chat murmurs in her ear. Eventually, lulled by his sweet voice and soft touch, her breathing returns to normal.</p><p>Sluggishly, thoughts slip back into her mind, and her heavy eyes open.</p><p>They’re sitting in an empty alleyway, dim and cool, partially obscured by the window ledges jutting out above them. Chat sits with his back to the building wall, still cradling Ladybug against him. The night is silent, with no sign of the akuma.</p><p>She realizes she should probably say something, and so she murmurs, “I’m okay.”</p><p>“We won’t move yet,” Chat says. “You should probably take a few more minutes.”</p><p>“I’m okay,” Ladybug repeats. “Really. Um, thank you.”</p><p>Chat’s arms tighten around her. “I was worried about you.”</p><p>There’s something strange about his words when they’re stripped of jokes and puns, leaving only raw concern. Ladybug has rarely heard Chat speak so seriously. Maybe the night he told her he wants to focus on their friendship, or the night of the masquerade dance when he told Marinette how much he cares about her—but she can’t think of any other times that he’s sounded so solemn.</p><p>“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Ladybug says.</p><p>She closes her eyes again, basking in Chat’s warmth. Being in love with him is dangerous, and terrifying—and of course, there’s still an akuma running around Paris—but for a few minutes, at least, she can savor his love.</p><p>It’s still love, isn’t it? Chat might not be actively wooing her, and he might have told Marinette <em>it’s complicated </em>when she asked about Ladybug—but he hasn’t stopped loving her, has he?</p><p>Ladybug tilts her head back to look at Chat. “Do you…”</p><p>She stops herself just before the desperate words tumble from her lips: <em>Do you still love me?</em></p><p>Chat frowns. “Do I what?”</p><p>Why does she want to know, anyway? She’s not planning to do anything about it.</p><p>But he hasn’t called her his lady. He hasn’t tried to kiss her. And that bothers her.</p><p>“N-no more pet names, then?” Ladybug asks. “I didn’t hear a <em>buguinette </em>during all of that.”</p><p>Chat raises an eyebrow. “Is flirting supposed to help with panic attacks?”</p><p>“So you would have flirted if I hadn’t been panicking?”</p><p>“Not necessarily,” Chat says. “Ladybug, are you alright?”</p><p>Stupid tears sting her eyes. Chat might not love Marinette, but he’s supposed to love Ladybug. She’s supposed to have a shot. And yet, no confessions? No more flirting?</p><p>He must have fallen in love with someone else. Ladybug doesn’t buy the excuse that he’s just focusing more on their friendship.</p><p>“Did I do something wrong?” Chat asks.</p><p>“No,” Ladybug says. “You helped me calm down. You didn’t do anything wrong.”</p><p>Brow pinched in concern, Chat reaches down and grabs Ladybug’s hair ties from her lap. “Here,” he says. “I, uh…sorry. It calms me down when people play with my hair, but I should have asked first.”</p><p>“You—you don’t need to ask for things like that.” Cheeks burning, Ladybug plucks a hair tie from his fingers and redoes one of her pigtails.</p><p>Bitterly, she wonders why Chat isn’t stunned speechless by her beauty. Shouldn’t he be fumbling for words at the sight of her hair down? That’s how it works in the movies.</p><p>She wants to confront this problem head-on—wants to look Chat straight in the eyes and tell him that she has feelings for him. But now isn’t the time: there’s an akuma attacking Paris, and Ladybug can’t afford an ill-timed love confession.</p><p>Besides, she still hasn’t gotten over the realization, herself. She should wait until she has a strategy.</p><p><em>Love doesn’t need a strategy! </em>her sappy brain says. <em>Just kiss him and confess!</em></p><p>Ladybug sighs as she fixes her second pigtail. “We should fight the akuma now.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Chat asks. “We can wait another minute, if you want.”</p><p>Another minute? That will just give Ladybug more time to say something stupid.</p><p>Cheeks burning, head slightly dizzy, she rolls off his lap and gets to her feet. “Are you ready?” she asks.</p><p>“The akuma can wait, you know.”</p><p>“That’s not true.”</p><p>“Can we talk afterwards?”</p><p>“No!” Ladybug says. “I mean, uh—I have things to do. I’m fine, though! Thank you for your concern.” Recalling Adrien’s advice from the night before, she reaches out and touches Chat’s arm. “I know I can always count on you. As long as you keep believing in me, I can do anything.”</p><p>Chat smiles up at her, his gaze soft in the evening light. “I’ll never stop believing in you, my lady.”</p><p>Ladybug’s stomach flutters at the pet name. Holding out her hand, she asks, “Ready to remind Le Papillon whose city this is?”</p><p>Breaking into a grin, Chat takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet. “Absolutely.”</p><p>And for the first time, the feel of his hand in hers causes Ladybug’s heart to ache.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The second Ladybug’s Miraculous Cure is done restoring the city, she turns to leave—but Chat Noir is faster than her, his hand wrapping around her wrist before she can take a single step.</p><p>“Wait,” he says.</p><p>“Chat,” Ladybug says, gently shaking off his hand. “I have things to do.”</p><p>“It…sounds like you aren’t completely being honest.”</p><p>“I don’t have to be,” Ladybug snaps. It’s instinct to retaliate—to shoo him away, before he gets close enough to see what’s in her heart.</p><p>“I know,” Chat says. Ladybug glances up at him and sees that his ears are drooping. “But if you need someone to talk to, you know I won’t judge.”</p><p>“I know,” Ladybug murmurs. “Um, also, I—I don’t know if I can do patrol tomorrow. Are you okay doing it on your own?”</p><p>“Of course,” Chat says. “And I’m sorry I can’t do more to help, Ladybug. Whatever’s bothering you, I hope it gets better.”</p><p>It would be easier if he resented her. Then he would stop acting so sweet and kind—would stop feeding the fire in her heart, making her entertain romantic notions that she needs to snuff out.</p><p>There’s still time to get over him—a very narrow window, before she starts imagining their wedding and picking out hamster names.</p><p>“Do you like hamsters?” Ladybug asks.</p><p>Chat tilts his head to the side, face etched with confusion. “Do I what?”</p><p>“Hamsters. What’s your opinion?”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence, during which Chat must mentally filter some version of the question <em>have you gone mad? </em>Then he nods. “Uh…yeah. They’re cute. I kind of want to get one when I’m older, if Plagg will tolerate it.”</p><p>“Yeah, they’re cute!” Ladybug says automatically. The conversation is starting to feel like every failed attempt at small talk she’s ever experienced. “I’ll see you around?”</p><p>“Ladybug,” Chat says, “if it’s really bad, you’ll talk to someone, right? Even if it’s not me?”</p><p>“Of course,” Ladybug says.</p><p>But nobody comes to mind.</p><p>Alya? Ladybug is too stressed for her head-on way of tackling romantic problems. Nino? He might give decent advice, but she’d feel embarrassed if she had a meltdown in front of him. And Adrien? Somehow, Ladybug gets the feeling that talking to one boy she loves about the <em>other </em>boy she loves might not be a good idea.</p><p>She could try venting to Tikki, but she would just sweetly reassure Ladybug that her feelings for Chat Noir are normal. That’s not what she needs right now.</p><p>Who else can she trust? Who else even knows about Marinette’s love troubles?</p><p>
  <em>Oh, no.</em>
</p><p>“That’s good,” Chat says, shoulders sagging in relief. “I, um…I know how cathartic it is to talk to someone. I don’t want you bottling things up.”</p><p>“I won’t,” Ladybug says. “I’ll have this conversation with someone, promise!”</p><p>She feels the need to reassure him somehow—to remind him that, despite pushing him away, she cares. Her body moves of its own accord, stepping toward him. “Thank you, Chat. Really. I couldn’t do any of this without you.” She stands on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger just enough to register the warmth of is skin. “Thank you.”</p><p>Afternoon sunlight illuminates the blush on Chat’s cheeks, and Ladybug guesses she doesn’t look much better. “Uh—I—of course,” Chat says, blinking rapidly. “Take care, Ladybug.”</p><p>With a wave, he jumps onto the neighboring roof, then races back to wherever it is that he calls home.</p><p>Ladybug’s feet itch to follow him, to see where he lives. What if she knows the neighborhood? What if she knows the street? What if she’s walked by his window dozens of times without realizing it?</p><p>She’s had those thoughts before—she’s not immune to curiosity. But this is the first time that the wondering has felt like a yearning, so strong that she feels like she’s been hit in the solar plexus.</p><p>Sighing, Ladybug scuffs her foot against the roof and glances in the direction of her home.</p><p>She’s really not looking forward to having this conversation with her parents.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>also, a side note: i know this fandom likes to be salty, but if there are any comments with salt, i'm deleting them. especially alya salt--in this house, we stan and appreciate alya for being a smart and supportive friend 👏</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoops. Didn't mean for this update to take so long--I underestimated the amount of Other Stuff I'd be dealing with. At any rate, Chapter 10 has arrived, at last! I hope y'all enjoy.</p><p>Side note: Although this fic is heavy with the innuendoes and teenage hormones, I guarantee nothing spicy happens. This isn't that sort of fic. Just a reassurance, since I know the conversations sometimes veer into raunchy territory 😆</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All afternoon, Marinette replays the moment before the akuma battle, when Chat Noir cradled Ladybug and spoke soft words as she panicked. The memory makes her alternate between lovelorn sighs and smothered screams. It’s warmth, and velvet, and makes her heart feel fuzzy; but it’s also sharpness, and quaking, and makes her heart explode into ten thousand pieces.</p><p>She feels like Chat reached into her chest, pried out her heart, and took it with him after the battle. Marinette can <em>feel </em>the piece of herself that went with him, almost physical: like the lucky charm she gave Adrien, except ten times more potent, and Chat doesn’t even realize that he has it.</p><p>He doesn’t realize. And even though Adrien never realized, either, this is worse—because hasn’t Chat loved Ladybug for so long? How could he not notice that she’s finally fallen?</p><p>“Tikki, what do I do?” Marinette asks, spinning frantically in her desk chair. “I still have a crush on Adrien, but my crush on Chat Noir—it’s—it’s so…”</p><p>“I think it’s wonderful!” Tikki says. “But Chat Noir wouldn’t want to see you upset.”</p><p>“I know,” Marinette groans. “If he were here, he’d hug me and comfort me and act like this is his fault. He’s…” She presses a hand to her chest, because there’s an actual <em>ache </em>there, a sweet pressure on her lungs that refuses to lift. “I can’t believe it took me so long to realize.”</p><p>Her sweet, wonderful partner has been stealing slivers of Marinette’s heart this entire time—and only <em>now, </em>when she’s almost ready to make a move on Adrien, does she see it.</p><p>It’s a disaster.</p><p>Eventually, when Marinette has emotionally exhausted herself thinking about Chat, she turns to her other problem: talking to her parents.</p><p>She knows she has to. There’s no one else she can ask for advice—but her parents have always been a bit too invested in her love life. The slightest mention of a love interest usually sends them into a whirlwind of advice, reassurances, suggestions, teasing. Marinette’s not sure she can handle that tonight.</p><p>It’s better if she gets this out of the way, though. And maybe one of her parents will have a magical solution that instantly solves her conundrum. Parents are like that. They know how to file taxes and schedule doctor’s appointments. They should be able to fix Marinette’s love triangle.</p><p>For the first fifteen minutes of dinner, Marinette pushes her beef around her plate in silence, trying to find the words to ask for advice. She doesn’t want them to figure out that Chat is the boy she’s thinking about, and she also doesn’t want to sound <em>too </em>receptive to advice. Otherwise, her parents’ “helpful suggestions” will never stop.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Tom finally asks her. “You’ve barely touched your dinner.”</p><p>“Is everything alright with your fashion project?” Sabine asks. “Was yesterday not as helpful as you hoped?”</p><p>Marinette swallows thickly, choking down a glob of beef fat that she couldn’t quite chew. “I…need advice.”</p><p>“Oh,” Sabine says. “Well, you know far more about this sort of thing than we do.”</p><p>“Baking!” Tom says. “The softness of dough! The sprinkle of sugar or chocolate curls! Imagine the designs you could make.”</p><p>Sabine rolls her eyes. “I don’t think Marinette wants to design clothes based on bread.”</p><p>“She’s missing out,” Tom says.</p><p>“Not about fashion,” Marinette says. “About, um…dating.”</p><p>Tom leans forward so far that he’s nearly looming over Marinette’s plate. “Did someone ask you out?”</p><p>“Tom,” Sabine says, lightly grasping his arm. “Let’s give her a chance to figure out what she wants to say.”</p><p>Squinting suspiciously, Tom lowers himself back into his seat.</p><p>“Right,” Marinette says. “Well, there’s a chance that Adrien might like me back.” She pauses, half-expecting her parents to erupt into applause. When they don’t, she adds, “That’s good, right?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Tom says. “Is it? It doesn’t sound good, the way you’re saying it.”</p><p>“I think I might like someone else, too,” Marinette says, staring at her plate. “And I might like them more, which is scary, and…I just don’t know what to do.”</p><p>She feels a bit hollow, saying the words out loud. She’s always tried her best to figure things out on her own; admitting that she needs help with her love life makes her feel farther from adulthood than ever.</p><p>After a pause, Tom says, “Is this other person—”</p><p>“I don’t want to say,” Marinette says. “It’s, um…complicated.”</p><p>Tom and Sabine exchange a look, and Marinette prays they haven’t guessed that the other person is Chat Noir. How would they know, anyway? For all they know, things are complicated because Marinette is crushing on a girl. They know about her celebrity crush on Clara Nightingale. There’s no reason to assume it’s Chat Noir.</p><p>“What exactly makes it complicated?” Sabine asks.</p><p>“Well,” Marinette says, “for one thing, I like two people. But with the person who’s not Adrien, it—it’s different. We started out as friends, and I never saw them that way. Now, suddenly, it’s…” She makes fists with her hands and snaps them open, miming an explosion. “Intense.”</p><p>Tom frowns. “And is this the kind of <em>intensity </em>that involves a certain talk between parents and their children?”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says, although some of her thoughts about the boys certainly stray into that territory. “No, I just mean, I suddenly realized that my feelings for this person are stronger than I thought.”</p><p>Tom sighs in relief. “Good. Very good.”</p><p>“It sounds like you really care about this second person,” Sabine notes.</p><p>“I really care about both of them!” Marinette says. “But lately, I’ve stopped imagining things with Adrien. I used to think about a house! Kids! A pet hamster! Now…” She snaps her fingers. “Nothing.”</p><p>“It could be that your feelings for him are maturing,” Sabine says. “The head-over-heels phase doesn’t last forever.”</p><p>Marinette latches onto that thought as if it’s a canteen of water in the desert. “Do you think that’s what it is with the second person?” she asks. “Just an intense crush? I mean, I asked them if they like hamsters earlier, so—that means it will go away, right?”</p><p>Tom scratches his mustache. “I’m not sure if—”</p><p>“That could be,” Sabine says. “You said you still like Adrien?”</p><p>“Yes,” Marinette says, but doubt wriggles in the back of her mind. “I mean, I think? I like spending time around him, and I still get flustered sometimes…”</p><p>“And what about the other person?”</p><p>“I don’t know. It’s all a mess. I just know the feelings are really strong.”</p><p>“These things take time, you know,” Tom says. Marinette waits, half-hoping her mother will tell him he’s wrong—but she just nods and picks up her fork instead. “You’ll make sense of it eventually.”</p><p>“But I’m <em>not </em>making sense of it,” Marinette says. “Nothing makes sense!”</p><p>A smile tugs at Sabine’s lips as she pricks a piece of beef with her fork. “And when did you realize you had feelings for the other person?”</p><p>“I…realized I might have a crush on them a few weeks ago,” Marinette says. “And I admitted that it was a crush a week or two ago! But…” She sighs. “You’re right. I didn’t realize I was—well—I finally realized this morning.”</p><p>Sabine nods. “Your father is right. I think if you give it more time, your heart will sort things out eventually.”</p><p>“Things aren’t that easy,” Marinette says, because she feels the primal teenage need to disagree with her parents. “It won’t be simple and tidy like that.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Sabine says. “But eventually you’ll understand your feelings better, and that will make it easier to make a decision.”</p><p>“You’re probably right,” Marinette grumbles.</p><p>“So, who’s the other boy?” Tom asks. “Or girl, or person, but…well.” He glances at Sabine out of the corner of his eye. “I have a <em>feeling…”</em></p><p>“Tom,” Sabine says, though there’s no force behind her reprimand. “We shouldn’t pry.”</p><p>“I know,” Tom says, holding up his hands. “I’m just wondering if we’ve met this person. It might be easier to give advice if we know them.”</p><p>Marinette grabs her fork and swiftly shoves beef and mushrooms into her mouth. She can’t answer the question if her mouth is full, after all.</p><p>It’s bad enough that if she tells them the other boy is Chat Noir, her parents might suspect she’s Ladybug—but worse, Marinette knows that her father would love for her to date Chat. If she admits that she’s actually considering Chat as a romantic partner, he’ll never let her hear the end of it.</p><p>He’ll make posters. And banners. And probably come up with an awful couple name. (And none of this is wild speculation; he did the same thing for her first crush in second grade. Marinette will never forget walking into the apartment and finding posters that said <em>TEAM MARIJEAN! </em>taped all over the walls.)</p><p>“It’s possible we know the person,” Sabine says. “And I’m sure Marinette will tell us if she starts dating this person, so that we can discuss proper precautions.”</p><p>Marinette nearly chokes on her food. “Pr-precautions? Maman! We already had the sex talk!”</p><p>Sabine laughs. “Not those kind of precautions.”</p><p>Marinette suspects she’s not fooling anyone.</p><p>After all, her parents were <em>there </em>the night Chat came to pick Marinette up for the dance—the night all of this started, really. Of course they’ve guessed who the other person is.</p><p>But then, how can they be so irresponsible? No self-respecting parent would let their teenage child date a superhero! What if Le Papillon targeted Marinette? As far as her parents know, she’s a defenseless civilian, and dating Chat Noir would put her in danger.</p><p>Unless they’ve figured out that she’s Ladybug.</p><p>Marinette’s eyes snap up from her plate, darting between her parents. Do they know? No, that’s silly. She needs to stop catastrophizing.</p><p>“Um.” Marinette pokes a piece of beef. “How did you two know that…you know. That you were right for each other?”</p><p>“It was our first conversation about bread,” Tom declares. “When your mother said that dough needs—”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Sabine says. “Marinette, it’s different for every person.”</p><p>“Please,” Marinette says, “give me <em>something.” </em></p><p>Sabine sighs. “Well, I…suppose it’s being comfortable, in a way.”</p><p>“Comfortable?”</p><p>“That’s right,” Tom says. “We don’t feel like we need to hold back with each other.”</p><p>“It’s a matter of intimacy,” Sabine says. “But intimacy is different for every couple.”</p><p>Marinette slouches in her seat. “That’s not an answer.”</p><p>“You’ll figure it out,” Sabine assures her.</p><p>The conversation lulls after that, and Marinette turns back to her dinner. Mercifully, the next time her parents speak, it’s to ask about a school assignment—there are no more questions about her love life.</p><p>Later, once dinner is cleaned up and Marinette has made herself a cup of tea, she feels marginally better. Her heart is still tangled up, and her stomach still flutters with nerves, but she doesn’t feel like screaming at the top of her lungs anymore.</p><p>Things will work themselves out. Maybe.</p><p>It’s something, anyway.</p><p>Carefully gripping the cup in one hand, Marinette climbs up her bed and pushes open the door leading to her balcony. Fresh air always helps clear her mind—it’s soothed her heartache over Adrien before, and hopefully it will do the same for these feelings.</p><p>She pokes her head through the doorway and yelps in surprise. Standing on the balcony is Chat Noir—his back to her, arms folded on the railing as he stares at the city below.</p><p>“I—uh—Chat?” Marinette squeaks.</p><p>Chat whirls around. “Marinette! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t even hear you come up.” He scrambles over to her and takes the cup of tea from her hands. “Here, I’ll get that for you. You didn’t spill any on yourself, did you?”</p><p>Marinette’s cheeks burn. She’s not used to Chat fussing over her, although she’s certainly not complaining. “N-no. I’m fine.” She climbs onto the balcony and stands up, watching as Chat sets her cup on the balcony table. “I’m sorry! I would have gotten you a drink if I’d known you were here.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Chat says. “I actually wasn’t planning to bother you tonight. Remember how you said I could use your balcony to clear my head? This…um, this is one of those nights where I need to do that.”</p><p>Nodding, Marinette wanders over to the balcony and leans against the railing. A moment later, Chat returns to his spot next to her, standing so close that his shoulder brushes against hers.</p><p>It makes Marinette’s heart skip a beat, but none of her panic from earlier returns. How could it, when Chat—her friend, her partner, her rock—is with her?</p><p>“Is this the first time you’ve come here by yourself?” Marinette asks, watching people below walk alongside the Seine.</p><p>Her stomach drops at the thought of Chat visiting the balcony alone. She doesn’t want to think that some nights, he’s been here by himself with no one to comfort him.</p><p>“Not the first time, no,” Chat says. “I’ve been here before, when you’re asleep—or, well, maybe you’re awake, but your lights are off, and you don’t hear me, so…” He shrugs.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Marinette murmurs. “You could have woken me up. I would have come up to see you.”</p><p>“No, no,” Chat says. One of his gloved hands covers hers, warm and smooth against her skin. Marinette still can’t bring herself to look at him. “You don’t have to. I’m just glad I can come here to clear my head. And, well…even if you’re not up here with me, you’re still nearby. That makes me feel better.”</p><p>Marinette risks a quick glance at Chat’s face as he stares out at the river. His cheeks are flushed pink—or maybe that’s just the glow of the fairy lights strung around her balcony—and his lips are tilted in a soft smile, eyes scrunched fondly.</p><p>Then he turns to look at her, and she’s pinned by his gaze, warm and fond.</p><p>If he keeps looking at her like that, Marinette has no doubt that she’s going to do something stupid.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Chat asks. “It seems like something’s bothering you.”</p><p>“M-me?” Marinette says. The sound of her own voice snaps her out of the trance. “I’m fine. But what about you? You said you needed to clear your head?”</p><p>Chat nods, his lips pressed in a thin line. “I…don’t want to talk about it too much. Something happened with Ladybug today, and it’s been bothering me. That’s all.”</p><p>“Oh.” Is Chat upset with Ladybug for what happened during the akuma battle? Marinette hadn’t considered that possibility. “I won’t pry, then.”</p><p>“I feel like it had something to do with me,” Chat continues. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything wrong, but…it could still involve me.”</p><p>Marinette’s teeth dig into her tongue. Chat has always been more observant than he lets on; of course he’s guessed that something has changed with Ladybug.</p><p>“I just can’t figure out what it could be,” Chat says. “The uncertainty is killing me.”</p><p>Marinette glances away. “Maybe she finally realized she’s in love with you.”</p><p>She expects excitement, glee, a hurrah—not for Chat to sigh and hunch forward, his arms dangling over the railing. “That would be a mess.”</p><p>“A mess?” Marinette asks, before she can stop herself. “But…aren’t you in love with her?”</p><p>“Sure. Yeah.” It’s the most unconvincing declaration of love Marinette has ever heard, and it makes the night chill feel ten times colder. Clearing his throat, Chat adds, “And, um—what about you? You still like Adrien, don’t you?”</p><p>Marinette squeezes her eyes shut, as if that can hide the turmoil on her face. “Why are you asking?”</p><p>“You asked about Ladybug.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Marinette says. “I know you said it’s complicated, and I said I wouldn’t pry, but…”</p><p>She shouldn’t ask. It’s not fair to trick Chat into telling her something that he wouldn’t tell Ladybug. And yet, she’s desperate to know: would pursuing Chat lead to a dead-end? Should she dig up this love before it starts blooming?</p><p>“But you want to pry,” Chat says, with a laugh. “I don’t mind. I know you’re curious, and I’m being cryptic.” He sighs. “It’s just, lately—”</p><p>“You don’t have to!” Marinette says. “In fact, please don’t. I shouldn’t have asked.”</p><p>“No, it’s fine.” Chat stares at the street below, his face twisted in some unreadable expression. “I don’t know how I feel about her anymore, honestly. It’s different, but I can’t figure out <em>how </em>it’s different.” He sighs. “Would you be uncomfortable if I said something personal?”</p><p>“Depends,” Marinette says. “Are you going to wax poetic about Ladybug’s butt?”</p><p>Chat bursts into laughter, his eyes lighting up for a moment. “No, I mean, like…something mushy.”</p><p>“Oh.” Marinette fixes her eyes on the river again. “Sure. You know you can trust me.”</p><p>“Right,” Chat says. “Well, today I had to…reassure Ladybug about something. So I was hugging her, and comforting her, and—and we’ve never felt closer, really.”</p><p>Marinette’s heart stirs. She’s reminded of another time, another night when Chat told her that he was in love with Ladybug. Then, her reaction had been shock, confusion, sympathy—but now, she’s desperate to hear the words.</p><p>“But I didn’t want to kiss her,” Chat finishes. “That’s weird, right? It was an intimate moment. I should have thought about kissing her.”</p><p>For a moment, it feels like he just dropped Marinette’s heart from the balcony. When she thinks about it, though, she felt the same last night when she visited Adrien to comfort him. Making him feel better was her priority; kissing him was the last thing on her mind.</p><p>“You were focused on making her feel better,” Marinette says. “You probably just didn’t have time to think about romantic things.”</p><p>“Yeah. Maybe.” Chat inhales deeply and sighs. “So, what’s bothering you?”</p><p>“Me?” Marinette says. “Oh, uh—nothing.”</p><p>“Marinette,” Chat says, his bright eyes boring into her. “I know you.”</p><p>And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Marinette and Chat Noir should have stayed strangers. Then she never would have had to feel like her heart is being torn in two.</p><p>Marinette turns to the table behind them and braces her hands against the edge. Her abandoned cup of tea sits in front of her, no longer steaming in the cool air. She knows that if she sipped it, it would probably be cold.</p><p>At least Chat can’t read her face if her back is to him. She doesn’t have to school her expression; she just needs to watch her words.</p><p>“Marinette?” Chat says.</p><p>His voice is so soft. Marinette has never heard anyone say her name that tenderly.</p><p>And yet, that gentleness could kill her heart with just a few words. <em>I don’t love you, </em>he could say, and that sweet voice of his would burn like poison.</p><p>“I…” Marinette nudges the cup of tea, feeling the cold ceramic against her knuckles. “It’s nothing.”</p><p>“You don’t have to tell me,” Chat says. “But if there’s something I can do…”</p><p>Marinette’s muscles twitch, urging her to throw herself into his arms. Earlier, his arms felt so warm, so <em>safe. </em>She wants to bury herself against his chest, and lose herself in his warmth, and forget about the potential heartbreak looming above them like a thundercloud.</p><p>Chat’s hand falls lightly on her shoulder. Marinette shuts her eyes and grips the table more tightly, feeling slightly dizzy.</p><p>What if she told him, as Marinette, that she loves him? What would he say then? He’d rejected her once, the day her father got akumatized—but it feels like centuries have passed since then.</p><p>“Would a hug help?” Chat says. “I, uh…I’m not sure what else to do.”</p><p>Is it selfish, to make him hug her twice in one day? Probably, but Marinette won’t say no.</p><p>She nods, though she doesn’t turn around. A moment later, featherlight, Chat’s arms wrap around her waist from behind.</p><p>Marinette instantly relaxes, her hands going lax against the table, slipping off the edge until they dangle in front of her. She vaguely registers Chat’s tail wrapping under her arms and around her waist, almost like it’s cradling her—and then she feels his chin tucking against her shoulder, warm nose pressed to her neck.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Chat says. “Whatever it is, I wish I could help. I hate to see you sad.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Marinette murmurs. “I get anxious about things whenever they don’t work themselves out immediately. That’s my problem.”</p><p>“Sometimes you just need to wait,” Chat says. “Which is terrible, but…”</p><p>“You’re right,” Marinette says. “My parents said the same thing. I <em>know </em>I just need to wait and see, but…that’s not what I do.”</p><p>“I know.” Chat laughs, his breath brushing her neck. “You like to jump right in. I’ve always admired that about you.”</p><p>“I want to jump in,” Marinette says, her pulse quickening. “Right now. And do something stupid.”</p><p>Will he guess what she means? Of course not. He can’t read her mind. He can’t know that she’s five seconds from turning around and kissing him.</p><p><em>“Right </em>now?” Chat asks. He almost sounds amused. “Should I be worried, princesse? Do I need to stop you?”</p><p>“Probably.”</p><p>Chat hums. “You’re not planning to burn your sketchbooks or something, are you? Take scissors to your designs?”</p><p>“I’m not there yet,” Marinette says. “Actually, I have some really great ideas. I finally feel inspired.”</p><p>“So it’s not the contest,” Chat murmurs. “You…you would tell me if I did something wrong? If I were the reason you’re upset?”</p><p>Marinette lets her fingers brush against Chat’s hands, her touch so light that he might not even feel it through his gloves. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”</p><p>Silence separates them, and she wonders if Chat will notice the omission.</p><p>“But I’m the reason you’re upset,” Chat says.</p><p>Marinette winces. “I know you don’t like when people lie to you.”</p><p>“No,” Chat says. “But I also don’t like forcing people to talk about things that make them upset, so—I won’t pry.”</p><p>Marinette should just be honest. She could tell him she loves him, and he would reject her, and then she could go back to pursuing Adrien. Even if it hurts, that’s the best solution.</p><p>“Chat,” Marinette says, turning around.</p><p>Chat’s arms stay wrapped around her, his hands pressing against the small of her back. Now, there’s only a sliver of distance between their bodies, a thin line of night air that begs to be erased. His green eyes stare down at Marinette, pupils so dilated that there’s barely any green in them.</p><p>“Yes?” he says.</p><p>Marinette tentatively slides her hands up Chat’s chest, up to his shoulders, until they’re looped around his neck—which is a stupid pose for someone who’s about to get rejected. She <em>should </em>be putting distance between them instead. If she takes a few steps backward, she’ll be able to leap through the trapdoor before she starts crying.</p><p>But she’s craved this, since the night of the dance. She’s dreamed of his arms around her. She wants to stand like this, just for a moment, because she knows it will probably never happen again.</p><p>“I…” Marinette swallows. Her legs are weak with nerves. “S-sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed.”</p><p>“Do you need to sit down?”</p><p>Marinette’s muscles move automatically. She sits on the table behind her, yanking Chat forward in the process.</p><p>He yelps as he tumbles forward, tail lashing. His hands hit the wood, and Marinette flails—and she’s not sure if it’s his hands, or hers, or even his tail, but <em>something </em>knocks over her teacup, spilling it everywhere.</p><p>The soft scent of citrus and tea leaves fills the air, and Marinette cringes as the liquid seeps into her pajama pants and spreads across the wooden table.</p><p>Chat reaches around Marinette, trying to set the teacup upright. Unfortunately, he only succeeds in knocking it off the table, and the ceramic clinks against the ground as it breaks into several pieces.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Chat says. His body is pressed to Marinette’s, trapping her against the table.</p><p>“Chat,” Marinette says, squirming. “Could you move? I’m covered in tea.”</p><p>Squawking, Chat scrambles backward. “I’m sorry!” he repeats. “Well, this is embarrassing. I’m usually much more graceful—”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it!” Marinette says, even though she’s grimacing. The wet patches on her pants are cold and clingy in the night air. “I’ll go change and get some towels.”</p><p>“Right. I’ll just, um…keep an eye on the mess, then.”</p><p>Marinette snorts. “Great. Don’t let it out of your sight.”</p><p>Chat gives a mock salute, and Marinette clambers back through her trapdoor and onto her bed.</p><p>She quickly slips off her pants and chucks them to the floor below, distinctly aware that only a skylight separates her from Chat. Memories of <em>that </em>night resurface—when Marinette had been unable to unzip her dress for the dance, and Chat had done it for her, his fingers just barely brushing her skin as he slid the zipper down. He’d blushed afterwards, and then fled to the balcony, spluttering incoherently.</p><p>Blushing, Marinette climbs down from her bed and changes into a pair of sweatpants. That done, she retrieves a paper towel roll from the kitchen and climbs back up to the balcony.</p><p>Alone, Chat paces back and forth, tail tightly gripped in his hands.</p><p>“I’m sorry!” he says, eyes landing on Marinette. “I think my tail knocked it over.”</p><p>“It’s fine.” Marinette sets the paper towels on a dry spot on the table, then starts wiping up the tea. “It could have been me.”</p><p>“Let me help!” Chat says. He reaches for the paper towel roll, but immediately knocks it over—it hits the ground and rolls across the balcony, leaving a trail of white paper in its wake.</p><p>Marinette snorts. “Okay, now I’m pretty sure it was you.”</p><p>“I’ve lost all my grace and poise,” Chat laments.</p><p>“Did you have any to begin with?”</p><p>“You would know,” Chat says. “Don’t you remember me sweeping you off your feet? I pride myself on being a gentleman!”</p><p>“Is that why you’re leaving your princess to clean everything up?”</p><p>Chat squeaks, holding his tail close to his chest. <em>“My </em>princess?”</p><p>Marinette’s face burns. “Y-you know. Because you—you call me princesse sometimes.”</p><p>“But I’ve never called you <em>mine,” </em>Chat says. “Um. Should I?”</p><p>Marinette freezes as she blots up tea with a towel. “I—um—that is…” She goes back to work, eyes fixed on the table. “I mean, why not? You wouldn’t call me <em>a </em>friend, right? You’d say I’m <em>your </em>friend. So, if I’m a princess, then it stands to reason that I’m <em>your </em>princess.”</p><p>She nods, satisfied with both her explanation and her clean-up job. Then she makes the mistake of looking up at Chat, who’s smiling at her softly.</p><p>“Ma princesse,” he murmurs, and Marinette’s heart thuds loudly in her chest. “Um, are you sure that doesn’t sound weird?”</p><p>“Sounds great!” Marinette says, her voice an octave too high.</p><p>Why is she torturing herself like this? Chat doesn’t want to be with her. Urging him to call her <em>ma princesse</em>—she’s just taunting herself with what she can’t have.</p><p>“Right,” Chat says. “So…what were you going to say, before I spilled tea all over you?”</p><p>Smiling tightly, Marinette grits her teeth. Was she really about to confess her feelings? Did she really think she was ready for that?</p><p>Is that even the right move?</p><p>If Chat finds out that Marinette loves him that way, he’ll never call her his princess again. He’ll be worried about leading her on—and that will mean no more casual touches, or gentle embraces, or tender compliments. He’ll be afraid to do anything that could be misconstrued as romantic.</p><p>Or maybe not; Marinette has a tendency to catastrophize. But this isn’t like her usual nightmarish hypotheticals. She’s <em>seen </em>this before. After Nathaniel confessed to her, things got awkward between them. Marinette didn’t want to do anything that might give him false hope, so for a few weeks, she interacted with him as little as possible. It wasn’t until he and Marc started dating that she felt comfortable being friends again.</p><p>And if Nathaniel hadn’t found Marc…Marinette honestly isn’t sure what their friendship would be like now.</p><p>It’s stupid, and selfish, but Marinette doesn’t want to sacrifice the relationship she has with Chat. If that means being dishonest, so be it.</p><p>“Marinette?” Chat says. “Sorry, I won’t ask—”</p><p>“Adrien!” Marinette blurts out, before she can fully formulate that thought. “I’m, uh…worried about him, is all. I think he’s going through some things? I mean, I know it’s none of my business, but I’m still worried! I just wish he would talk to me.”</p><p>A stuttered sound escapes Chat’s lips, but before it becomes a word, Marinette babbles on.</p><p>“Not that I’d ever force Adrien to say anything!” Marinette says. “You probably think I’m nosy! That’s not it. It’s just—how do you say <em>you can talk to me if you want </em>without sounding like you’re pressuring someone?”</p><p>“I, uh—”</p><p>“You can’t!” Marinette says. “So, he either thinks I don’t care, or he thinks I’m too nosy. I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>It’s not what she was thinking of, when Chat asked—but it’s still true.</p><p>Of course, she’s happy if visiting Adrien as Ladybug helped. She’s happy if Adrien silently takes comfort in having Marinette as a friend. And yet, it drives her insane that despite her best efforts, he’ll probably continue keeping things to himself.</p><p>“Oh,” Chat says, which isn’t exactly the wisdom or reassurance Marinette was hoping for. “I, um…I don’t know what to tell you.”</p><p>“Just tell me I’m stupid and worrying too much,” Marinette grumbles. “It’s none of my business. And he’s probably already upset that I asked him in the first place—”</p><p>“No!” Chat says. “I’m sure he’s touched that you care.”</p><p>“So…you don’t think I upset him?”</p><p>Chat smiles. “Not at all.”</p><p>Marinette instinctively moves forward, her body colliding with Chat’s as she wraps her arms around him. He inhales quickly—a tiny gasp—and then his arms snake around her, holding her close.</p><p>“I guess I’ll believe you,” Marinette says, her cheek pressed to his chest.</p><p>Chat shakes with a laugh. “I’m a hero of Paris,” he says. “I’m full of wisdom.”</p><p>“Sure.” Marinette closes her eyes, relishing the warmth of Chat’s arms.</p><p>A few seconds later, her cheek begins vibrating. Marinette frowns and pulls back slightly—and then she realizes why the air is thrumming between her and Chat.</p><p>“You’re purring,” she says.</p><p>Ever since the Prime Queen fight, she’s known that he <em>could…</em>but it’s another thing entirely to feel his body vibrate against hers, and to realize that the sound is coming from somewhere within his throat or chest.</p><p>Chat coughs. “I, um…I do that sometimes.”</p><p>Marinette hesitantly presses one of her hands against Chat’s chest, feeling his chest rumble beneath her fingers. “Do you do it on command?”</p><p>“No.” Chat glances away. “It’s involuntary, but if I focus, I can make it stop. Kind of like—uh.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “N-never mind. I won’t finish that sentence.”</p><p>Marinette’s face heats. “Wait. You don’t purr because you’re—”</p><p>“No!” Chat says, eyes flying open. “No! I wouldn’t—I mean, maybe? I’ve never gotten—you know, while transformed—um, I don’t know why it happens. I swear, I was only having pure thoughts.”</p><p>A smile tugs at Marinette’s lips; she can’t help but find Chat adorable when he’s flustered. He’s always cute, of course—but even more so when he’s blushing and stuttering. “Are you still having pure thoughts now?”</p><p>Chat’s throat jumps as he swallows. “You’re being difficult.”</p><p>“That wasn’t a yes.”</p><p>“Yes!” Chat says. “Marinette, stop torturing me. You know I’m a gentleman.”</p><p>Marinette snorts. “Sorry.” Sighing, she burrows against his chest again, wrapping her arms around him tighter than before. The bass sound of his purr fills her ears, making her body heavy and her brain tingly. “I wish I had you in my bed every night,” she mumbles. “I’d fall asleep in no time.”</p><p>Chat laughs. “Are <em>you </em>having pure thoughts?”</p><p>Marinette groans and bangs her forehead against Chat’s rumbly chest. “I meant like a white noise machine.”</p><p>“People don’t usually cuddle noise machines in their beds.”</p><p>“Now <em>you’re </em>being difficult.”</p><p>“I, uh…” Chat’s chin bumps against Marinette’s head. “Wouldn’t that be inappropriate? Having me in your bed, I mean.”</p><p>Marinette squints at him. “Yes? Or, I mean…”</p><p>She considers that. <em>Is </em>cuddling in her bed inherently inappropriate?</p><p>Technically, cuddling is just hugging, except sitting or lying down. And hugging is appropriate. Friends hug all the time. She and Chat are hugging right now.</p><p>Cuddling on furniture isn’t taboo, either. If Chat and Marinette were to hug while sitting in the lounge chair on her balcony, no one would call <em>that </em>inappropriate.</p><p>As for cuddling in her bed, well, people do plenty of appropriate things in their beds. Sleeping, doing homework, watching movies. Beds aren’t automatically sexual.</p><p>So if hugging isn’t inappropriate, and cuddling on furniture isn’t inappropriate, and <em>beds </em>aren’t inappropriate, then…sleeping with Chat in her bed should be fine?</p><p>Before Marinette’s brain can reject her logic, she says, “Actually, I don’t think it’s inappropriate! I mean, it’s just a bed, and it’s not like we’d be doing anything. In fact, we’d be unconscious! What’s inappropriate about that?”</p><p>“You make a compelling point,” Chat says.</p><p>“I do,” Marinette says. In fact, she’s almost convinced herself.</p><p>“You must really want me in your bed.”</p><p>Marinette blushes and slaps his chest. “Don’t make fun of me!”</p><p>“Hey,” Chat says, “I’m not arguing. I, uh…I agree.”</p><p>“It would make it easier for me to sleep,” Marinette says. Despite the fact that her body is pressed against Chat’s, she finds that it’s easier to be honest when she can’t see his face. His soft smile and kind eyes—those are what turn her brain into a jumbled mess. “I worry about you when you’re not around. At least that way, I would know that you were safe, and—and maybe happy.”</p><p>“There’s no <em>maybe </em>about it,” Chat says, squeezing her. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”</p><p>“Not always,” Marinette says, even as her heart flutters at Chat’s words. “Sometimes you’re upset.”</p><p>“I’m always happier, then,” Chat says. “Marinette, I love being around you. Never doubt that.” </p><p>Marinette’s throat tightens at his words. How can Chat be so happy, just from seeing Marinette? She doesn’t do that much for him. It doesn’t make sense.</p><p>But it does, because he loves her. Even if he doesn’t want to date Marinette, even if he doesn’t like her romantically, he’s still said that he loves her.</p><p>“I—I like being around you, too,” Marinette says. “And, um, it’s up to you, but…if you ever come by in the middle of the night, and you don’t want to wake me, you can just…” She clears her throat. “You can just drop through the trapdoor, if you want.”</p><p>Chat snorts. “Climb into your bed without warning? That seems like a bad move.”</p><p>“Knock first. I’ll open the door for you.”</p><p>“But then I’ll wake you up.”</p><p>“I’ll fall back asleep instantly,” Marinette says. “I promise! I just don’t want you up here alone. It breaks my heart.”</p><p>Chat’s hands slide up to her arms, and he pushes her back slightly, creating a sliver of space between their bodies. Claws tickling her skin, he says, “Marinette.”</p><p>She tenses, staring at the bell decorating his throat.</p><p>“Marinette,” Chat repeats. One of his fingers nudges Marinette’s chin upward, forcing her to look him in the eyes. His gaze is soft, and warm—and oh, every muscle in her body aches to lean forward and kiss him. “Please don’t worry about me so much.”</p><p>“What?” Marinette says. “Chat, no. You’re worth worrying about. I just—”</p><p>“I know,” Chat says. His hand slides up her face until it’s cupping her cheek. “But don’t worry so much that it makes you upset. And I’m sure Adrien would say the same thing. There’s only so much you can do for people.”</p><p>“But I—”</p><p>“I <em>know,” </em>Chat says, laughing. “You’re amazing, and kind, and you want to do everything for everyone. But you can’t worry yourself sick.”</p><p>A hundred protests bubble behind Marinette’s lips. She knows he’s right, though—even if she doesn’t want to admit it.</p><p>“Stay the night,” she says.</p><p>Chat’s fingers slip from her cheek. “I—what?”</p><p>“I’ll worry less if you’re here with me.”</p><p>“Oh, um, I…” Chat rubs the back of his neck. “I appreciate the offer, but—”</p><p>“It’s not an offer. I’m telling you to stay the night.”</p><p>Chat stares at her, his mouth moving wordlessly.</p><p>If he’s really uncomfortable, Marinette will back down. But Chat came to her balcony because he was upset, and Marinette doesn’t want to let him leave and spend the night alone in some fancy bedroom all by himself.</p><p>“Chat?” Marinette prompts. “If you can’t, that’s fine. Or if you don’t want—”</p><p>“Okay,” Chat breathes. “I…yes. I’ll stay.”</p><p>He’ll stay?</p><p>Slowly, the realization settles into Marinette’s brain, like a cat kneading a pillow before curling up: Chat Noir…the boy she loves…is going to sleep in her bed with her.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>“Great!” Marinette says, as her mind screams, <em>WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? </em></p><p>“Super cool,” Chat says.</p><p>Marinette clears her throat. “Um, you can come inside, then. I need to change clothes and brush my teeth, and throw out the broken mug, but—uh, then we can…yeah.”</p><p>Blushing, she throws the trapdoor open and drops down onto her bed. She almost slams it shut behind her, until she looks up and sees Chat’s bright eyes peering down at her.</p><p>Right. He’s following her. Because he’s going to bed with her.</p><p>Marinette waves for him to follow her, then climbs to the floor below. “I’ll be right back,” she says, grabbing a pair of pajamas from the dresser.</p><p>“Wait,” Chat says. He leaps silently to the ground and pads over to Marinette, holding out a few chunks of ceramic. “You wanted to throw these out, right? Careful with the—”</p><p>“Yes!” Marinette snatches the pieces from Chat’s hands, nearly slicing her fingers on the sharp edges. “Thank you. I’ll go brush these. I mean, throw out my teeth. I mean, um…wait here.”</p><p>Face burning, she scurries through the trapdoor toward the bathroom downstairs.</p><p>Her parents are already asleep, so no one asks her about the broken mug as she dumps the ceramic in the trash can.</p><p>“Marinette,” Tikki whispers, floating at her shoulder. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”</p><p>Marinette slips into the bathroom and flips on the light. “I thought you liked Chat.”</p><p>It’s a stupid response—and judging by the tiny frown pinching Tikki’s face, she’s thinking the same thing. “You two haven’t had an honest discussion about your feelings yet,” Tikki says. “I don’t want you to make yourself more upset.”</p><p>Marinette sighs. “I’ve been overthinking things. I need to stop worrying so much and just follow my gut.”</p><p>Her gut…which swirls, leaps, bubbles with a mix of emotions.</p><p>“That’s fine!” Tikki says. “As long as you have a plan.”</p><p>“I do have a plan,” Marinette says.</p><p>What she doesn’t tell Tikki: the only part of the plan she’s worked out is <em>cuddle with Chat Noir. </em></p><p>Nerves coiling in her stomach, Marinette rips off her clothes and slips into her pajamas. Once she’s pulled her tank top over her head, though, she freezes.</p><p>In the bright lights of the bathroom, it is abundantly clear that the white top she grabbed is see-through.</p><p>“Not worrying,” Marinette sings to herself, as she begins brushing her teeth. “Not worrying, not worrying…”</p><p>It’s fine. Chat is a gentleman. It will be dark. There’s nothing wrong with cuddling with him while she wears a thin, see-through, low-cut tank top. </p><p>Marinette spits, then splashes cold water on her face, wishing she could wash away her foolishness. “I’m worrying.”</p><p>“Marinette?” Tikki asks.</p><p>“What am I thinking?” Marinette mutters, hands braced against the bathroom counter. “I can’t cuddle with Chat! That’s too romantic!”</p><p>“That’s why I said you should have a plan.”</p><p>“I can’t plan when I’m around Chat!” Marinette whisper-yells. “I lose my ability to think critically! All I can think about is his sweet smile and kind eyes and warm arms and…” She bites down on her fist, muffling a scream. “I can’t do this. What do I do?”</p><p>Marinette watches her reflection in the mirror, with Tikki floating over her shoulder. “You can tell Chat you changed your mind,” Tikki says. “He’ll understand!”</p><p>Of course Chat would understand—but Marinette doesn’t want to reject him after she begged him to stay. “It’s fine,” she says. “It’s just…like a sleepover! Friends have sleepovers all the time.”</p><p>Tikki squints at Marinette in the mirror. Marinette may not be a mind-reader, but she’s pretty sure Tikki is thinking, <em>This is nothing like a sleepover. </em></p><p>Taking a deep breath, Marinette marches out of the bathroom and up the stairs to her room, then throws the trapdoor open and resolutely climbs through it.</p><p>Hugging her pile of clothes to her chest—and making sure that not a single bit of her bra peeks out from the pile—Marinette approaches Chat. He’s sitting cross-legged at the foot of her chaise longue, his eyes fixed on the far wall, fingers twisting the Miraculous on his finger. His eyes flick to Marinette as she gets closer.</p><p>“I’m back,” she announces.</p><p>“Right,” Chat says. “So, I figure…I’ll take the chaise longue, and then I can wake you up when I leave in the morning? I mean, I guess I’ll <em>have </em>to, to get to the skylight—I, um, I could try to climb over you while you’re sleeping, but that feels a little creepy—and you’d probably rather say goodbye…” He clears his throat. “Um, is that good?”</p><p>Relief and disappointment tug Marinette’s stomach in two opposite directions. “You don’t want the bed?”</p><p>“It’s your room,” Chat says. “You should take the bed.”</p><p>“Right,” Marinette says, drawing out the word. “But why does that mean you have to take the chaise longue?”</p><p>“Oh.” Chat blinks, and in the room’s bright light, there’s no mistaking the crimson flush on his face. “You mean—both of us take the bed?”</p><p>“Y-yes?” Marinette says. “Isn’t that what we decided?”</p><p>Her face burns in embarrassment, and she wonders if she somehow completely misunderstood their conversation. Or maybe her panicked, lovelorn brain dreamed up the entire thing. Why else would Chat act like they never discussed this?</p><p>Great. Now he’s going to feel uncomfortable, and think Marinette is a pervert, and he’ll leave and never visit her again and he’ll tell everyone in Paris that she’s a creep and then she’ll die alone with no spouse and no hamster and—</p><p>“Yes!” Chat says. He scrambles to his feet, limbs flailing; despite the bulk he’s gained, his growth spurts have left him a bit gangly. “Sorry. I—I wasn’t sure if that’s what you meant, since you just said <em>stay the night.”</em></p><p>“It’s a big bed,” Marinette says, as she dumps her clothes in the hamper. Before Chat can notice her pajamas, she swiftly turns off the lights, plunging the room into darkness.</p><p>Not waiting for her eyes to adjust, she moves toward her bed and immediately trips.</p><p>Her pedaling hands collide with a chest, and then two familiar arms wrap around Marinette’s waist. “Um, here,” Chat says. “Allow me?”</p><p>Marinette’s feet suddenly leave the ground, and she feels herself being scooped up into Chat’s arms. He carries her over to the bed, up the stairs, and gently deposits her on the mattress.</p><p>As Marinette’s eyes adjust, she can make out his dim figure standing on the top step. “Chat,” she says, sighing. “I’m not letting you spend the night on my chaise longue.”</p><p>“I can’t take off my boots,” he says.</p><p>The phrase is so bizarre, so unexpected, that it takes Marinette’s brain a moment to process it. “You…oh.” She laughs. “I guess not. Is that why you wanted to sleep down there?”</p><p>“Partly,” Chat says. “I’m, uh…I’m also just awkward.”</p><p>“Could you detransform, maybe?”</p><p>“Too risky. And I forgot my masquerade mask.”</p><p>Marinette makes a mental note to create a new mask for Chat—one that he can leave in her room for situations like these. “That’s okay.” She smiles and reaches an arm out, beckoning Chat toward her. “If your boots are dirty, I can just wash my sheets tomorrow. And we can be more prepared next time.”</p><p>Chat mumbles <em>next time, </em>and then the mattress dips under his weight, shaking as he crawls toward the head of the bed.</p><p>“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers.  </p><p>“Why wouldn’t it be?” Marinette asks.</p><p>She desperately hopes that Chat won’t actually answer that question—because there are, after all, several reasons why this might not be okay.</p><p>“I guess it’s fine,” Chat says.</p><p>The mattress shifts again as he stretches out alongside Marinette. With her eyes adjusted to the darkness and the bit of light shining through the skylight, she can tell that he’s lying down with his back facing her.</p><p>“Am I the big spoon?” Marinette jokes.</p><p>“Hm?” Chat twists to glance over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Your back is facing me.”</p><p>“Oh. I—I was trying to give you space.”</p><p>Marinette swallows nervously, then says, “I don’t really want space.”</p><p>For a long, painful moment, Chat is silent, and Marinette wonders if she’s made him uncomfortable. She waits, fingers curled tightly into her blanket.</p><p>Finally, Chat rolls over, eyes glinting in the darkness. “Sorry. I’m not used to sharing a bed.”</p><p>“Neither am I,” Marinette says. “Um, so…”</p><p>“Is this okay?” Chat asks. “Sorry, I—I just feel weird touching you.”</p><p>“It’s just hugging,” Marinette mumbles, but as she says the excuse out loud, to his face, she realizes that it’s a weak one. This isn’t <em>just </em>hugging.</p><p>Chat chuckles. “It’s a little more than that, I think.” His teeth flash pale in the darkness with a grin. “I’m here, Marinette. I’m not crying in my room by myself. Do you think you can sleep now?”</p><p>Briefly, Marinette wonders if she could push it—if she could say, <em>I can’t fall asleep unless I have you in my arms. </em>“I suppose so.”</p><p>Chat hums. “Good night, Marinette.”</p><p>“G-good night.”</p><p>Heart skipping, Marinette tugs the blanket over them and lays her head on her pillow. Even though she wants to close her eyes, she can’t. She finds herself staring at Chat’s silhouette, trying to make out the slope of his shoulders, the tips of his ears. Her eyes draw him against the shadows, filling in the details she can’t quite make out: his straight nose, his messy hair, the gentle curve of his lips.</p><p>Marinette reaches forward hesitantly, fingers hovering centimeters from his cheek.</p><p>She wants to touch him. Her entire body yearns to close the space between them—to bury her face against his chest, and fall asleep surrounded by his warmth.</p><p>But she shouldn’t.</p><p>Sighing, Marinette closes her eyes.</p><p>Is her room always so quiet, though? She’d never noticed before, when she was the only person in her bed—but now that there’s another person with her, the silence weighs on her.</p><p>Marinette waits for sleep to come. Minutes pass, and she can hear Chat’s breathing turn slow and regular, so quiet that she can’t make it out unless she strains to listen. At least one of them is sleeping, anyway.</p><p>She’s not sure how many minutes have passed when Chat suddenly shifts and moves closer to her, his tail tapping against her leg.</p><p>“Chat?” Marinette whispers. He doesn’t respond. “Chat.”</p><p>Whimpering, he rolls forward and presses his face to Marinette’s collarbone, his mask cool against her skin. His tail whaps against her leg, and his breathing seems faster than normal. When Marinette reaches up to touch his hair, she can feel his ears twitching beneath her fingertips.</p><p>“Tikki,” Marinette breathes, so quietly that she can’t even hear herself.</p><p>A small blob appears in the darkness. “Marinette,” Tikki whispers. “I can’t be here! Chat Noir could see me.”</p><p>“I think he’s having a nightmare,” Marinette says. She strokes Chat’s hair, hoping that even in sleep, he’ll find the action comforting. “I—I don’t know what to do when someone is having a nightmare.”</p><p>“You could wake him up.”</p><p>Marinette nods, and Tikki disappears below the bed again.</p><p>“Chat,” Marinette murmurs, cupping his face. “Can you wake up?”</p><p>He whimpers again.</p><p>Gently, Marinette shakes his shoulder. “Chat,” she says, smoothing hair from his forehead with her other hand. Then, louder, “Chat.”</p><p>His body goes rigid beneath her hand, and then he pulls his face away from her chest and glances up at her, panting.</p><p>“You—you were having a nightmare?” Marinette asks.</p><p>Chat sits up, and Marinette withdraws her hands. “Y-yeah. I, um…I can’t remember it.”</p><p>Marinette wonders if he’s telling the truth, or just trying to avoid questions. “We don’t have to talk about it. Is there anything I can do?”</p><p>“I—I’m sorry if this is weird, but…would it be alright if I slept closer?” Chat asks. The more he talks, the more Marinette realizes how shaky his voice is, almost like he’s verging on a sob. “I’m scared to fall asleep alone now.”</p><p>“Of course,” Marinette says. She grabs his arm and tugs him toward her. “Come on. Like I said, it’s just like hugging.”</p><p>Chat must be more shaken than he’s letting on, because he doesn’t even protest about propriety. Instead, he lies back down and slings an arm around Marinette’s waist, his warm cheek pressed against her bare shoulder, his hair tickling her chin.</p><p>“Is this okay?” he murmurs.</p><p>“Yes,” Marinette whispers. The moment feels too fragile for her to speak any louder—as if he’s a real cat that she’ll spook away if she raises her voice.</p><p>Chat’s arm tightens around her, and she feels his tail wrap around her thigh, tethering her to him. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I don’t want to be alone.”</p><p>Silently, Marinette wonders if that was the nightmare, but she doesn’t push. “You’re not alone.” She runs her fingers through his hair, then scratches behind Chat’s ears. A purr stutters to life in his chest. “I’m here.”</p><p>“For now.” Chat’s face is so close to Marinette that she can feel his lips moving against her skin. “But eventually. Weeks, or months—or years…”</p><p>“No,” Marinette says. Without thinking, she presses a kiss to his hair. “Chat, you could never be alone. You’ll always have people who love you.”  </p><p>Chat sniffles, and Marinette’s heart breaks when she feels a hot tear drip onto her skin. “D-do you?” Chat asks. His claws prick her back as he clings to her. “I—I know you’ve said it before, but could you…say it again?”</p><p>Marinette takes a shaky breath. She <em>had </em>told Chat that she loves him, once—but that was back when she only saw him as a friend, back when she thought she could never develop romantic feelings for him. Now that she knows how much he means to her, the once-easy words are suddenly stopped up in her throat. What if she speaks them, and he realizes how she really feels?</p><p>But the risk is worth it. She needs Chat to know that he’s loved.</p><p>“I love you, Chat Noir,” she says, as tears prick her eyes. “And I’m not going anywhere. We’re—” She almost says <em>partners, </em>and catches herself. “We’re…us.”</p><p>Marinette’s fingers trail down to his cheek, searching for tears. She catches one on her thumb and swipes it off his face, and his purr grows louder in response. He nuzzles against her hand, face still pressed to her shoulder, and she wishes he would turn so that she could find the rest of the tears. He shouldn’t fall asleep with those stains drying on his face.  </p><p>“I don’t know much about your civilian life,” Marinette starts—though somehow, those words feel like a lie. For the past few weeks, she’s clung to a mental list of everything she knows about Chat: his rich father, the fact that he never mentions his mother, his extensive wardrobe, his small circle of friends, his piano playing, his busy schedule and restricted liberties.</p><p>Because she needs to feel like she knows him, completely. She doesn’t want to admit that she’s trapped on one side of the mask.</p><p>“I don’t know much about your civilian life,” Marinette repeats. “But you know I’m with you, right? Whatever you’re doing during the day…I might not know your name, but I’m still your…” She wants to say <em>friend, </em>but the word feels wrong on her tongue. It’s not that it’s false; it just doesn’t come close to capturing the depth of her connection to Chat. “I’m your princess even when you’re not transformed.”</p><p>Chat takes a shuddering breath, then exhales. The skin of Marinette’s throat tingles from the almost-contact. “You could,” he whispers.</p><p>“I could what?”</p><p>“Know my name.”</p><p>“Chat,” Marinette says. She hates to reject him, but she can’t let him give away his identity in a moment of weakness. “You shouldn’t—”</p><p>“I know,” Chat says. “I won’t. I just wish I could tell you.”</p><p>“You don’t need to,” Marinette says, even as her brain chants, <em>tell me, tell me. </em>“It doesn’t change how much I care about you.”</p><p>Chat mumbles something. He moves, and his lips press more deliberately to her shoulder—almost like a kiss, though it must be an accident. “I believe you.”</p><p>“Good,” Marinette says. “I’m too tired to have an argument about how much I love you.”</p><p>“I love you, too,” Chat says.</p><p>The words hang in the slim space between them, and Marinette waits for something to follow them: an addition, a clarification, a change of subject.</p><p>But Chat doesn’t say anything else. The words stand alone, and that makes them terrifying.</p><p>Marinette closes her eyes, trying to calm her erratic heart. “Let’s get some sleep?”</p><p>“Mm.” Chat presses even closer, one of his calves crossing over Marinette’s legs. Marinette has a feeling that for once, she won’t be tossing and turning in her sleep. “Good night, Marinette.”</p><p>“Sweet dreams,” she says, as if those words will somehow prevent Chat from having another nightmare.</p><p>With Chat’s purr vibrating in her chest, and his warmth seeping into her open heart, Marinette slips into sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Gonna try to have the next chapter posted within 2-3 weeks, but it might end up being more like 4. After that, we'll probably be switching to once-a-month updates, since I'm currently trying to get my schist together. Hope everyone's staying safe and healthy! Please take care of yourselves.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y'all! I meant to post this sooner, but December ended up being insanely busy and stressful for me. At last, though, Chapter 11 is here! </p><p>A quick review, since it's been a while: Friday afternoon, Marinette visited Adrien to look through his closet and find inspiration for her design. Afterwards, she was worried about him, so she visited him as Ladybug and the two had a heart-to-heart. The next day, a conversation with Alya made Marinette realize that she has feelings for Chat, which made her freak out a bit during an akuma attack. That night, Chat visited Marinette and ended up staying the night in her room.</p><p>And now, that brings us to Chapter 11! I hope you all enjoy 😄</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marinette wakes up sweating.</p><p>Something warm is pressed to her face, smothering her—and whatever it is, it’s wrapped around the rest of her, too, cocooning her in heat. It wouldn’t be unpleasant if Marinette slept naked or without covers; but she’s clothed, layered under thick blankets, and the heat feels sweltering.</p><p>Marinette groans and pulls away from the warm thing, blearily blinking her eyes open. In front of her is smooth black fabric and a diagonal zipper line. One of her hands is pinned against the thing, and her fingers tingle from cut-off circulation. Marinette isn’t sure what the warm thing <em>is, </em>but it’s too firm to be a pillow.</p><p>The warm not-pillow mumbles and shifts, and then Marinette realizes what it is.</p><p>She yelps and jerks back, but there’s nowhere to go. Chat Noir’s arms tighten around her, pulling her back against his chest.</p><p>“Chat,” Marinette says. “Too warm. Can’t breathe.”</p><p>“Sunday,” he mumbles. “Sleeping in.”</p><p>“It’s not sleeping if I pass out from suffocation,” Marinette says. She pushes against Chat’s chest, trying and failing to create space between them. One of his legs is hitched over hers, further immobilizing her. “Chat, please. I’m sweating.”</p><p>“Cute sweat,” Chat slurs.</p><p>Marinette considers making a loud noise to wake him up, but knowing that he had a nightmare the previous night, she can’t bring herself to disturb his sleep. There’s no choice but to wait it out.</p><p>It would be nice if she could grab her phone, though.</p><p>For the next few minutes, Marinette listens to Chat’s breathing, timing her breaths so that they match his; and each time they exhale together, his breath tickles her hair, sending a tingle down her spine.</p><p>Occasionally, he hums or mumbles something, and the sleepy sounds make Marinette’s heart flutter. She wonders what her name would sound like in that voice, nearly incoherent, followed by a lazy <em>I love you</em>—and then she wonders why she’s torturing herself with those unrealistic thoughts, when the things Chat actually mumbles are <em>macaronronronron </em>and <em>don’t have fleas.</em></p><p>It’s nice, though. Comfortable, even, minus the sweat—and the fact that Marinette has just realized she needs to pee.</p><p>“Chat,” she says. “Chat, I’m sorry to wake you up—”</p><p>“Sleep,” he mutters, squeezing her.</p><p>“I have to go to the bathroom.”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“It’s time to get up.” Marinette tugs at one of his arms, trying to detach it from her waist, but Chat is stubbornly clingy. “Come on. Don’t you need to get home before someone realizes you’re gone?”</p><p>Chat responds with another sleepy hum, and that’s when Marinette is left with no choice. She slides one of her hands up his face, cupping his cheek—and then she flicks it.</p><p>Marinette expects a yelp, a swear, some sort of sudden movement. Instead, Chat just mutters, “Rude.”</p><p>“Chat. Bathroom.”</p><p>“I don’t have to go.”</p><p>“Well, I do.” Marinette wriggles, trying to escape his tight grasp. “If you really love me, you’ll let me go to the bathroom.”</p><p>Finally, Chat’s arms loosen around her, and he pulls back enough that Marinette can look up at his face. His eyes are glazed with sleep, his hair somehow even messier than usual. Squinting, he opens his mouth to speak, but then turns his head away to yawn—which Marinette appreciates, since she’d rather not get a face full of morning breath.</p><p>“Sorry,” Chat says, smacking his lips. “What did you say?”   </p><p>“I—I have to, uh…” Now that Chat is awake, Marinette has noticed that their position is maybe a <em>bit </em>too intimate for two friends cuddling. “I have to go to the bathroom?”</p><p>“Oh!” Chat’s eyes widen, and he lets go of Marinette, scooching to the other end of the bed. “I’m so sorry, Marinette. If you said that, I don’t remember. I must have still been asleep.”</p><p>“You said my sweat was cute,” Marinette teases.</p><p>Chat’s face contorts into the most perplexed expression she’s ever seen. “I—I what?”</p><p>“And then you said I was rude.”</p><p>“I did?”</p><p>“Well,” Marinette says, “I did flick you in the face, so maybe I deserved that.”</p><p>Chat laughs. “I’m not usually that deep of a sleeper. Your bed must be more comfortable than mine.”</p><p>“I doubt that. I’m sure your super-expensive bed is nicer than this one.”</p><p>“The thread count might be higher,” Chat says, “but it’s not as cozy.” He yawns and stretches his arms above his head. “I’ll get going, then. I don’t want to prevent you from the bathroom any longer.”</p><p>He starts to stand up, reaching for the skylight, but Marinette stops him with a hand on his arm. “Do you want something to eat first?” Marinette says. “We’ve got leftover pastries.”</p><p>She knows it’s selfish to make him stay any longer, when she already got him to stay the entire night. He probably has to get ready for the day. And yet, Marinette can’t stop herself from being greedy; when it comes to Chat, she always wants more.</p><p>“Oh.” Chat tilts his head to the side, and Marinette fights the urge to tackle him against the mattress and snuggle for the rest of the morning. “Well, I’ll never say <em>no </em>to free food.”</p><p>“Great!” Marinette says. “I’ll run to the bathroom and meet you in the kitchen. Or, uh, does Plagg need to recharge?”</p><p>“He’ll be fine,” Chat says. “Sleeping doesn’t drain him that much.”</p><p>“Have you…slept in the suit before?”</p><p>“Oh.” Chat glances down at the floor below. “Once or twice, when my room felt too suffocating. Your bed is more comfortable than rooftops.”</p><p>Marinette’s fingers inch across the blanket, until they’re lightly resting on Chat’s knee. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Chat murmurs.</p><p>“No, it’s not,” Marinette says. “But no more sleeping on rooftops, alright? My bed is available anytime.”</p><p>Chat nods, and his soft smile makes Marinette’s heart stutter in her chest. “Agreed.”</p><p>“Anyway!” Marinette says. “I, uh—I’ll see you downstairs.”</p><p>She untangles herself from the blankets and crawls over to the stairs. As she does, she stupidly wonders whether Chat see the lines of her underwear through her pajama pants. Is he staring at her butt? He almost has to be, right? Then again, Chat prides himself on being a gentleman. He’s probably averting his eyes.</p><p>Probably.</p><p>Marinette quickly climbs down to the floor of her room, then scrambles through the trapdoor and into the bathroom.</p><p>She slams the door shut behind her and glances in the mirror. The moment she does, she lets out a cry of horror.</p><p>“Marinette?” Tikki says. She must have followed her without Chat noticing. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Marinette repeats. “I—I look horrible!”</p><p>One of her hair ties somehow came out in her sleep, making half her head look like a rat’s nest—and while the other half is still neat, the texture of her hair looks greasy from not washing it the night before.</p><p>Right. She didn’t wash it, because she forgot to shower after Chat dropped by—and worse, she was sweating the entire night, which means she probably smells disgusting.</p><p>Cringing, Marinette ducks her head and sniffs under her arm. “Sweat!” she cries. “I smell like sweat.”</p><p>Tikki, the traitor, simply laughs. “Maybe he didn’t notice.”</p><p>“He’s a cat!” Marinette says. “Cats smell things! He definitely smelled me!”</p><p>Moaning, Marinette leans forward to inspect her face in the mirror. There’s crust below her eyes, her lips are chapped, and—</p><p>“Drool!” Marinette exclaims, pointing to the patch of dried spit on the corner of her mouth. “Oh, no. Does that mean—did I drool on the pillow? Did I drool on <em>him? </em>I think I drooled on him! Will that come out of his suit? What if he’s stuck with a patch of drool on him forever because of—”</p><p>There’s a soft knock on the door. “Marinette?” Chat asks. “Are you alright?”</p><p>Marinette’s eyes lock onto her chest in the mirror, where she can see—very clearly—that the fabric is clingy and see-through.</p><p>There’s no <em>way </em>Chat didn’t notice that. Forget him being a gentleman; there are some things a person can’t miss.</p><p>“Marinette?” Chat repeats.</p><p>“I’m fine!” Marinette says, barely holding back a scream. “J-just, uh—one minute!”</p><p>She quickly goes to the bathroom, then washes her hands and reaches for the door handle. Tikki stops her, though, poking her cheek and whispering, “Marinette, your face.”</p><p>Marinette squeaks, flinging herself toward the sink and wrenching it on. She splashes water on her face to get rid of the eye crust and dried spit, then reaches for her toothbrush and frantically brushes her teeth.</p><p>Once she’s mildly presentable, she opens the door and steps outside, hugging her arms to her chest.</p><p>Chat is leaning against the fridge, arms folded in front of him, something pale pink draped over them. “So, I thought—”</p><p>“Sorry!” Marinette says. “I was washing my face, and brushing my teeth, and, um…”</p><p>“Oh,” Chat says. “Sorry. I can’t really brush my teeth, so I probably have morning breath.” He holds up his hands. “Keep your distance, princesse. It could be dangerous.”</p><p>Marinette doubts that. Even when he’s just rolled out of bed, Chat looks as gorgeous as ever; in fact, the messier his hair gets, the more attractive he is. And of course, his mouth looks just as kissable as ever.</p><p>“Um, what are you holding?” Marinette asks, pointing to the bundle of pale pink fabric.</p><p>“A hoodie?” Chat says, his voice cracking slightly. “I, um…I thought…maybe…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“You might be cold in just a tank top?” Chat finishes. He grimaces, eyes darting to the sink at his right. “So I, uh, grabbed the one off your chair.”</p><p>Marinette’s face burns. “Y-you—does that mean you were—”</p><p>“I wasn’t—”</p><p>“You were staring at my chest!”</p><p>“I was not <em>staring,” </em>Chat says, with telltale rosy cheeks. “B-but I noticed that your tank top is—um—thin—and since you’re currently standing with your arms covering your chest, I mean—”</p><p>“I just stand that way sometimes!” Marinette says.</p><p>“Right.” Chat swallows. “So are you not taking the hoodie, or—”</p><p>“I am definitely taking the hoodie.” Blushing, Marinette snatches the hoodie from Chat’s arms and yanks it on, then zips it up as far as it will go. “Um, thanks.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“So…<em>did </em>you look, or—”</p><p>“No comment.”</p><p>Marinette groans and covers her face. “This isn’t fair. You still look sexy, and I look like a total mess.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know,” Chat says. “I think you look cute.”</p><p>With a sigh, Marinette tugs at the knot of hair on the side of her head. “You don’t have to lie. I know I look hideous in the mornings.”</p><p>“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Chat says, “but you’re wrong. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather see first thing in the morning.”</p><p>Marinette’s face flushes. “You’re just saying that because my shirt was see-through.”</p><p>“No!” Chat squawks. “I—I meant <em>you, </em>not your—your—”</p><p>“If you can’t even say the word, you shouldn’t be looking at them.”</p><p>Chat puffs out his cheeks, face pink. “I wasn’t,” he mumbles.</p><p>“Okay,” Marinette says, deciding to be charitable. “To be fair, I woke up to your chest instead of your face, so—”</p><p>“Lucky you.” Still flushed, Chat holds up an arm and flexes. “All of Paris envies you, you know. No one else can say they’ve woken up to Chat Noir’s chest.”</p><p>“Lucky <em>them, </em>you mean,” Marinette quips. As Chat splutters his protests, she shoves past him and opens the fridge. “So, we have some pieces of quiche left over, if you want. Maybe that’s a little heavy for breakfast, but—”</p><p>“Oh!” Chat says. “I’ve been dying to have your parents’ quiche again.”</p><p>Marinette raises an eyebrow as she pulls out the plastic container and sets it on the counter. “You’ve had it before?”</p><p>“W-well, I mean…” Chat fidgets, and Marinette instantly regrets her question. “I’ve been to the bakery as a civilian. Um, not recently, but—”</p><p>“Never mind!” Marinette says. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”</p><p>Chat nods. “Your parents are downstairs already, right?”</p><p>“Right,” Marinette says. She’d known from the pale light outside that her parents would be in the bakery already; otherwise she never would have invited Chat downstairs. Glancing at the oven clock, she adds, “We open in twenty minutes, so…”</p><p>“Good,” Chat says. “I’d rather not explain what I’m doing here at—”</p><p>The door to the apartment opens before he can finish his sentence.</p><p>Sabine takes two steps into the room, then stops, staring at Marinette and Chat. Her expression seems to say, <em>Since when does a boy in a cat suit live under my roof? </em></p><p>“Maman!’ Marinette says. “Um, this is Chat—I mean, Chat is here to, um—”</p><p>“I was on a morning patrol and stopped by when I saw Marinette up on her balcony,” Chat says. “She told me I could come inside and get something to eat. I hope that’s alright?”</p><p>“Of course,” Sabine says. “Chat Noir, you’re welcome any time. I’m just surprised that Marinette is awake. Usually she sleeps until noon on Sundays.”</p><p>“I woke up early!” Marinette says. “I wanted to keep working on designs while I was inspired, so…”</p><p>“I can’t wait to see them,” Sabine says. “And Chat Noir, if you want something fresh, we can give you a to-go bag. Just stop downstairs before you leave.”</p><p>Surprisingly, Chat shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”</p><p>“Sounds good!” Marinette says. “We’ll come downstairs in a bit.”</p><p>Sabine slips past them to grab her phone off the counter. She pauses to kiss Marinette on the cheek and pat Chat on the shoulder, and then she makes her way back out the door.</p><p>The moment the door shuts, Marinette frowns at Chat. “I thought you said you never turn down free food.”</p><p>Chat winces. “I didn’t want to impose.”  </p><p>“You think that accepting gifts is imposing?”</p><p>Chat presses his lips together and glances away.</p><p>Marinette sighs. In her mind, yet another piece falls away from her mental portrait of Chat, revealing more of the boy underneath the mask. Lately, she almost feels like a conservator restoring an old painting, gently scraping away layers to uncover the original.</p><p>“Chat,” she says. “I don’t know who told you that, but you’re allowed to accept presents and favors. You’re not causing trouble for anyone.”</p><p>“I know,” Chat says. “I just…have trouble remembering that.”</p><p>“That’s fine,” Marinette says, lightly grasping his arm. “But let us give you things, okay? You deserve it.”</p><p>After a pause, Chat leans forward and wraps Marinette in a loose hug. “Thank you,” he says. “Really. You and your family are amazing. I just hope that…”</p><p>“Hope what?” Marinette asks. Remembering that she probably smells awful, she reluctantly squirms out of his grasp.</p><p>“Um.” Chat clears his throat. “I hope that I have a family like yours, one day.”</p><p>“You will,” Marinette says. “I—I mean, you kind of do, already! You can consider us family, if you want.”</p><p>“I don’t want to impo—” Chat’s mouth snaps shut, and he nods. “Right.”</p><p>Marinette nods with him, her face burning again. “Anyway, let’s heat this quiche up, and then we can go downstairs and get you some treats.”</p><p>“Aw, princesse,” Chat coos. “Your lovely face is the only treat I need.”</p><p>Rolling her eyes, Marinette gets out a baking sheet to reheat the quiche. At least Chat seems to be back to his usual cheerful self. Marinette hopes that his good mood lasts the rest of the day—that it doesn’t evaporate the moment he gets home, where he feels suffocated by a lonely life and high expectations.</p><p>Stupidly, whenever Marinette imagines Chat’s home, she thinks of Adrien’s mansion: large, opulent, empty. She’s sure his house is nothing like that—but it’s what her brain substitutes, since she’s not allowed to know what Chat’s life is really like.</p><p>Marinette hates that rule, and an increasingly loud part of her brain insists on ignoring it. Wouldn’t things be easier if she and Chat Noir knew each other’s identities? Why can’t they just reveal themselves and get on with their lives?</p><p>The quiet, sensible part of Marinette’s brain—which sounds an awful lot like Tikki—reminds her that the stakes are too high. Revealing their identities could be a life-or-death decision. She can’t do it just because she’s in love with Chat; her teenage love life isn’t worth compromising their safety.</p><p>But can they even be together, if Marinette can only know him as Chat Noir? How would that even work?</p><p>“Marinette?” Chat asks. “What should I set the oven to?”</p><p>Marinette blinks. “What?”</p><p>“You’ve just been staring at the quiche.”</p><p>“Oh. Sorry. I spaced out.” Marinette reaches forward and switches the oven on. “So, um…what is your bedroom like?”</p><p>“My bedroom?” Chat echoes. “Why?”</p><p>“I was just wondering.”</p><p>“Searching for fantasy fuel?”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says. “I just want to get to know you better, and…you can learn a lot about someone from their living space.” She fixes her eyes on the slices of quiche. “Sorry. Forget I asked.”</p><p>“I’m afraid you wouldn’t learn much about me,” Chat says. “I didn’t get much say in the decorations. It’s, uh—that’s a rich, overbearing parent thing. Ask Adrien or Kagami, and they’d tell you the same.” He hums to himself. “I guess Chloé’s room is more representative of her tastes, but that’s probably because André isn’t very controlling.”</p><p>“So there’s nothing in your room that you picked?”</p><p>“Not really,” Chat says. “I mean, video games, maybe a few books. Oh, and—um.” Marinette glances over and finds him covering his face with his hands. “Nothing. That’s it.”</p><p>“Wait,” Marinette says. “Are you embarrassed by something in your room?”</p><p>“No!” Chat says. “Of course not!”</p><p>“What is it?” Marinette says, tugging at his arm. “Come on. You made fun of my Chat Noir doll! It’s only fair.”</p><p>Chat lowers his hands to scowl at her. “I did not <em>make fun </em>of your Chat Noir doll. I said you had excellent taste.” He sighs. “And…I may or may not own some Ladybug merchandise. Anyway—”</p><p>“Aw,” Marinette says. “That’s so sweet.”</p><p>Face red, Chat points at the baking sheet. “Are you going to put that in the oven? Or are we just going to reheat the quiche on my face?”</p><p>“That <em>is</em> quite the blush,” Marinette says. “You should try that during a battle sometime. I bet the akumas wouldn’t be able to hit those adorable cheeks—”</p><p>“Stop,” Chat groans. He leans forward and lets his forehead fall on Marinette’s shoulder. “Why do you do this to me?”</p><p>Marinette laughs. “Do what?”</p><p>“Mock me,” Chat says. “And so cruelly! My ego, it weeps—”</p><p>“Oh, stop,” Marinette says, shoving him off her. “And, well…the oven hasn’t finished heating up, but I guess we can put the quiche in.” She opens the oven door and slips the quiche inside, then sets the timer. “Also, um—I could give you something for your room, if you want. Maybe a pillow or poster? It’s not like I’ll ever see your room, so there’s no risk of—”</p><p>“No!” Chat says. “No, it’s fine. But you’re right—I should have more control over how my room is decorated. I’ll mention it to my father later.”</p><p>“So what <em>would </em>your room look like?” Marinette asks. “If you designed it?”</p><p>“Well,” Chat says, “first of all, I’d have a room that’s half the size. My bedroom is too big for one person. And the walls wouldn’t be so bare, either. I really like how you have posters and pictures of your friends, so…maybe something like that. Oh, and I’d paint the walls. Probably blue, since that’s my favorite color. Plus I’d get rid of the—um—there’s some weird junk in my room that I’d give away.” He sighs. “It just doesn’t feel like a place I can relax.”</p><p>Again, Marinette’s mind goes to Adrien’s room, which always feels chilly and empty. “I can picture that.”</p><p>Chat snaps his fingers. “Wait, I take it back. I want a big room, because then I could put in a home theatre and have all my friends over. I can’t really go to the movies, since—um…” He trails off, and Marinette could swear his face gets a bit pale.</p><p>“Since what?”</p><p>“I just…don’t have time,” Chat says, and Marinette senses he’s avoiding her question. “But I don’t have friends over that often, so I guess it would be useless. There’s no point in having a home theatre if I can’t share it with anyone.”</p><p>“I’d come over,” Marinette says. “If I could.”</p><p>Chat smiles. “I’m sure you would.” He glances at the oven. “Is the quiche done yet?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Marinette says. “And I think you should talk to your father. He should let you put up posters and photos, at least.”</p><p>“You know,” Chat says, gripping his chin, “it’s been a while since I got rebellious. I’m about due for a fight with him.”</p><p>“Wait,” Marinette says. “I don’t want you two to—”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Chat says, which does nothing to stop Marinette from worrying. “Honestly, it’s not so bad. If we fight, that’s more talking than we usually do in a week.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Marinette says. She thinks of Gabriel Agreste, who rarely says more than a few stern words to Adrien, and wonders if Chat’s father is similar. “That sounds horrible.”</p><p>“Yeah, it is,” Chat says. “I can’t admit that to anyone when the mask is off, though.”</p><p>“You could.”</p><p>Chat laughs hollowly. “No. I told you before—I can’t do much without this mask.”</p><p>Marinette knows which conversation he’s referring to; it’s in her mental file on him, the one labeled <em>MASQUERADE DANCE. </em>She remembers how, after an unpleasant confrontation with Lila, Chat bitterly confessed that he feels spineless as a civilian.</p><p>“He’s your father,” Marinette says. “It makes sense that you have trouble confronting him.”</p><p>“Does it?” Chat asks. “I don’t know. How can I fight countless akumas, battle <em>supervillains, </em>and not be able to ask my father about repainting my walls?” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t call myself Chat Noir. I should be Lion Peureux.”</p><p>“Okay,” Marinette says, “first, if you’re a character in <em>The Wizard of Oz, </em>you’re Dorothy, because she’s the sweetest and cutest of the bunch. Second—”</p><p>“Hold on,” Chat says, holding up a hand. “I need a moment to process that you think I’m <em>the sweetest and cutest of the bunch.”  </em></p><p>“Second,” Marinette says, blushing, “you’re not a coward. You know what’s brave? Confiding in a friend about a difficult subject. Talking about your relationship with your father isn’t easy, but you’re doing it.”</p><p>“I guess.”</p><p>“And I know this is a sensitive subject,” Marinette says, “but setting up that date for Ladybug, and telling her how you feel? That was brave, too.”</p><p>“That was stupid,” Chat mutters. “She said she was busy, and I ignored that. And now she doesn’t believe me when I say I want to be friends.”</p><p>“I—um, never mind that,” Marinette says. She doesn’t want to dwell on that topic too long, or she’ll have another meltdown. “You’re sensitive, and kind, and caring, and just because some people don’t appreciate that, that doesn’t mean you’re a coward. You’re the bravest person I know.”</p><p>Chat’s eyes widen. “What about Ladybug?”</p><p>“Did I say <em>Ladybug </em>just now?” Marinette steps forward and jabs a finger against Chat’s chest. “No. I said <em>you. </em>You’re brave.” She folds her arms. “Now, do I need to keep going, or do you believe me?”</p><p>“You can stop,” Chat says, smiling. “Although, I do love when you get angry and tell me how great I am.”</p><p>Marinette rolls her eyes. “I don’t want to make a habit of it, so you’d better start believing how amazing you are.”</p><p>“I believe that you think that. Anyway—”</p><p>“Chat,” Marinette says. “I <em>think that</em> because it’s true. Understood?”</p><p>“Understood,” Chat mumbles. He reaches down to play with a strand of Marinette’s hair. “Really, Marinette. I appreciate…” He frowns, poking the wad of hair on the side of her head. “Wow. You’re going to need a lot of conditioner to get that knot out.”  </p><p>“What…hey!” Marinette swats his hand away. “Not all of us look like rock stars when we wake up.”</p><p>“Or you could try coconut oil,” Chat adds, eyes twinkling. “Some girls I know swear by the stuff. And don’t worry, princesse. I still think you’re gorgeous, even with horrible hair.”</p><p>“Horrible?” Marinette echoes. A smile tugs at her lips. “You’re supposed to tell me it’s nice!”</p><p>“Well, I’m not a liar.”</p><p>Marinette makes a mental note of that: unlike Adrien, Chat will not lie if Marinette’s dress makes her look fat.</p><p>“Oh, and don’t worry,” Chat says. “You didn’t drool on me while we were cuddling. But if you did, I’d treasure the stain. You know, like how some people don’t wash their hands after meeting someone famous—”</p><p>“Stop!” Marinette shrieks, trying not to laugh. In one swift movement, she grabs a dishtowel from the oven handle and snaps it at Chat. “You’re horrible.”</p><p>Chat winks. “That’s a shame, because you’re stuck with this horrible cat.”</p><p><em>I wouldn’t have it any other way, </em>Marinette almost says.</p><p>Instead, she just stands and waits for the oven timer to reach zero.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Update: Chapter 12 will be posted in March! And for those of you who didn’t know, a heads-up that I post writing updates on my blog under this <a href="https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-update">writing update tag</a>. If you’re wondering about delayed chapters, check the tag! </p><p>Thank you all for your patience, kudos, and comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y'all! I'm back with another chapter. Thanks for the patience--like I've said before, I've got a lot going on right now, so it's hard to update this fic quickly 😅 Oh, and for those of you who didn't know, I try to post writing updates under <a href="https://ominousunflower.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-update">this tumblr tag</a>, so if you're ever wondering what's going on with this fic, check that tag. (Just don't ask me for updates, please!)</p><p>Quick refresher: the last two chapters involved the Marichat sleepover. Before that was some Ladynoir, and before <i>that</i> was the Ladrien scene. It's been a while since the Adrinette closet scene...but at last, we've circled back to that side of the love square! Enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Adrien will be here in a few minutes!” Sabine calls up through Marinette’s trapdoor.</p><p>“Coming!” Marinette yelps, jumping up from her desk chair. She slams her sketchbook shut and scrambles toward the door, nearly tripping over a pair of shoes as she does.</p><p>It’s been two weeks since Chat Noir first stayed the night, and he’s come back twice since then.</p><p>The first of those two times, he came crashing onto her balcony, frustrated tears in his eyes as he mumbled something about his father. Marinette had immediately hauled him into bed and held him until he fell asleep—and when she woke up in the morning, he was gone, having left a tiny note on her desk that said he had to go get ready for school. (It was signed <em>from your favorite cat </em>with a heart, and Marinette stupidly saved the note in a drawer because she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.)</p><p>The second time, two nights ago, Chat had visited for dinner again, and he’d followed Marinette up to her room to play video games with her. The two of them played the demo for a game Max created, and despite Marinette’s usual gaming prowess, Chat actually managed to beat her in a few rounds. Of course, she blamed that on the fact that she hadn’t learned the mechanics yet.</p><p>She’d also been distracted by Chat’s slender fingers clutching the controller, and how he intently leaned toward the screen—the way his tongue stuck out as he concentrated—the sideways glance he gave her each time he won, assuring her that he probably had beginner’s luck.</p><p>Really, Marinette spent more time staring at him than she did at the computer screen.</p><p>They’d stayed up too late playing games, though, so Marinette told him to stay over instead of going home. In the morning, Marinette mentioned that he could detransform and wear his masquerade mask next time, if he wanted—to which Chat replied with a laugh and said, <em>What, so that you’re not the only sweaty gross one? </em></p><p>Naturally, Marinette shoved him off the bed for that.</p><p>Marinette stumbles down the stairs to the kitchen and rushes into the apartment. Once upon a time, the presence of Adrien would have kept thoughts of Chat Noir at bay…but now, Marinette can’t seem to stop thinking about him. And so, when she joins her parents in the living room, her mind is fixed on Chat: when he’ll visit next, if he’ll wear normal clothes instead of the superhero suit, what he looks like in skinny jeans, how he would ask her out if he were in love with her (which he’s not, of course), and how it would feel to finally kiss—</p><p>A knock on the apartment door yanks Marinette from her thoughts. Shaking her head, she passes her parents on the couch—who, strangely, are <em>not </em>shooting her knowing looks—and opens the door.</p><p>“Marinette!” Adrien says, grinning. “How’s it going?”</p><p>“You’re wearing the jacket!” Marinette blurts out.</p><p>It’s close to the outfit she’d created for him a few weeks ago: black leather jacket, white v-neck, dark blue skinny jeans. The aesthetic fits Adrien perfectly, and it’s a nice deviation from his usual style.</p><p>“Y-yeah,” Adrien says. He props his arm against the doorframe and leans against it, his posture slightly stiff. “Um, is it—do I look bad, or—”</p><p>“No!” Marinette says, although she has to hold back a laugh. Of course Adrien looks fantastic—but his shy words don’t match that suave stance at all. “You look amazing. What did your father say about it?”</p><p>Adrien shrugs. “He didn’t even see me. And Nathalie just sighed and told me not to join a biker gang.”</p><p>At that, Marinette does laugh. “Well, unfortunately,” she says, stepping aside to let him in, “I’ll need you to take off that handsome jacket. And the rest of your clothes.”</p><p>Adrien raises an eyebrow as he walks into the apartment. “Oh? I thought you didn’t like me with my clothes off.” He freezes, his eyes landing on Marinette’s parents. “Uh! Monsieur Dupain! Madame Cheng! H-how are you?”</p><p>“Do we need to supervise you two?” Tom asks, frowning.</p><p>“N-no!” Adrien says. “No, sir. I—I’m, uh…” He trails off and casts a frantic look at Marinette.</p><p>“It’s fine, papa!” Marinette says. “Adrien’s just joking.”</p><p>Tom’s eyes narrow. “I hope so.”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Marinette whispers to Adrien. “He’s just trying to be scary.”</p><p>“Well, it’s working,” Adrien mutters, back completely straight, his eyes fixed on Tom Dupain. “I slightly fear for my life now.”</p><p>“This isn’t the first time you’ve met him,” Marinette points out. “You know he’s not scary.”</p><p>It’s not like Tom gave Adrien the shovel talk that he gave to Chat Noir the night of the masquerade dance. Marinette still remembers the way his face paled when her father told him he’d be <em>Chatré Noir </em>if he tried anything funny.</p><p>“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Sabine says. “And Adrien, we can bring up snacks later, if you want. Just let us know.”</p><p>“Uh, sure!” Adrien says. “That would be great, actually. Maybe in an hour or so?”</p><p>“Excellent!” Tom booms, quickly dropping his <em>scary dad </em>façade. “What will it be? Pastries? A quiche? Something fancy like—”</p><p>“That’s fine!” Marinette says, before her father can spend the next hour listing menu items. “Pastries and quiche sound good. Come on, Adrien!”</p><p>She grabs Adrien’s wrist and tugs him toward the stairs. He laughs as they climb up to her room. “What, are you worried I’ll ask for a five-course meal?”</p><p>Snorting, Marinette pushes the trapdoor open. “No,” she says, stepping into her room. “But my parents take hospitality <em>very </em>seriously. If we hadn’t escaped, they would have listed at least fifty options.”</p><p>“That’s not so bad,” Adrien says. He follows Marinette and closes the door behind them. “I like your parents. They’re sweet.”</p><p>Marinette laughs. “But papa’s fake scary act got to you?”</p><p>“Oh, well.” Adrien smiles sheepishly. “I guess I’m worried about getting his approval, maybe.”</p><p>“Approval?” Marinette repeats. “Adrien, you don’t need to worry about that. My parents adore you. And even if they didn’t—”</p><p>“Right!” Adrien says. “That’s the kind of approval I meant. Definitely. So, um, you wanted to get measurements and check fabric swatches?”</p><p>“Over here,” Marinette says, leading Adrien to the spot she’s cleared by her chaise longue.</p><p>It’s funny, actually talking to Adrien now. Back when she’d been blindly crushing on him, she’d always imagined that every single exchange with him would be perfect—that every sentence from his mouth would sound like a line from a romance movie. In reality, though, Adrien doesn’t always make sense. He can be awkward, and scatterbrained, and fidgety. Marinette can’t always tell what he’s thinking when he says something.</p><p>And she’s glad that’s the case. It means her friendship with Adrien is grounded in reality. It means the relationship between them is <em>real. </em></p><p>“So…” Marinette grabs her measuring tape and notebook. “Let’s start with chest and arms. You can take your jacket and shirt off.”</p><p>“Sure,” Adrien says.</p><p>As he sheds the jacket, Marinette finds her heart beating a little faster. As cool as Adrien looks <em>in </em>the leather jacket, there’s something even more alluring about watching him take it off. She half-expects him to drape it over her shoulders and then whisper something teasing in her ear.</p><p><em>Ha. </em>Marinette has been spending too much time with Chat—that’s something he would do, for sure. Then again, Adrien and Chat have their similarities, so…maybe Adrien <em>would </em>try something like that.</p><p>“Marinette?” Adrien asks. He’s draped the jacket over her chaise longue, and is currently pulling off his shirt. Hair ruffled, he tosses it on top of the jacket, leaving him in just a white tank undershirt.</p><p>“Oh.” Marinette blinks, her eyes following the ribbed fabric up to the sleeves, thin strips of fabric that accentuate the muscles of Adrien’s shoulders. “Th-that’s a shirt.”</p><p>Adrien raises an eyebrow. “Well, you were uncomfortable the last time I took my shirt off, so…”</p><p>“Right,” Marinette says, although <em>uncomfortable </em>isn’t really the word she’d use. “I, um, I didn’t mind that much, though!”</p><p>“Anyway, I figure this is tight enough that you can still get measurements?”</p><p>Marinette’s eyes flick down to the snug fabric hugging Adrien’s chest, then back up to his face. “It—it’s definitely tight!”</p><p>Adrien sighs. “There’s just no winning, is there? My body is too irresistible.” Shaking his head, he adds, “Alas. I suppose you’ll just have to take my measurements with your eyes closed.”</p><p>“What?” Marinette squawks. “No! I—I’m not that distracted by your chest!”</p><p>“But you <em>are </em>distracted,” Adrien says, with an impish grin. It’s so Chat-like that Marinette nearly reaches for her spray bottle, before remembering that she can’t just randomly spritz water at Adrien Agreste.</p><p>“That’s a normal thing!” Marinette says. “Y-you’d be distracted too, if I took <em>my </em>shirt off!”</p><p>Immediately, the grin slips off Adrien’s face, and his cheeks turn red. “Um. I—uh. I would…um…avert my eyes, obviously.”</p><p>“Mm hm. Thought so.” Marinette waves her tape measurer reproachfully at him. “You know, maybe I should do this without a shirt, too. See how professional <em>you </em>are when one of your peers is half-naked.”</p><p>“You—shirt—no. No, that’s okay,” Adrien says, his face flushing darker. “No more teasing! I promise. So, um…measurements?”</p><p>Before Marinette can pull out the measuring tape, her phone buzzes on her desk. “One second.” She darts over and plucks up the phone, quickly unlocking it to see a message from Alya.</p><p><strong>Alya: </strong>is adrien there yet?</p><p>Marinette frowns as she responds. Why would Alya care about that? Usually she prods Marinette for details <em>after </em>she’s interacted with Adrien—not usually when he’s standing right there.</p><p><strong>Marinette: </strong>yeah why<br/>
<strong>Alya: </strong>I don’t <em>think </em>he’s going to make a move on you. Like, he hasn’t asked me or Nino for advice. But Nino says sunshine boy can be kind of spontaneous sometimes, so…just wanted to warn you.<br/>
<strong>Marinette: </strong>so did adrien say something???<br/>
<strong>Alya: </strong>no no<br/>
<strong>Alya: </strong>I mean, he’s waxed poetic about you a few times. But he’s not planning your wedding yet.</p><p>Marinette resists the urge to glance over her shoulder at Adrien. Has he really been talking about her that much? Enough that Alya felt the need to give Marinette a heads-up?</p><p><strong>Marinette: </strong>if he asks me out i’ll deal with it but i have to go now so bye!</p><p>Marinette puts the phone on silent and tosses it onto her desk chair where she can’t see it. “Sorry,” she says, turning to Adrien. “Alya was bugging me about something.”</p><p>“No problem,” Adrien says. “Uh, so…arms?”</p><p>He straightens his posture and extends his right arm. Marinette runs the measuring tape down to his wrist, trying not to think about Alya’s text. “So, how are things? Um, I mean, in general. I’m not asking about anything specific.”</p><p>“My father, you mean?” Adrien asks. Apparently Marinette isn’t subtle. “Nothing new since I last texted you.”</p><p>Marinette nods, trying to keep her face impassive as she measures the diameter of Adrien’s bicep. Last weekend, Adrien had texted Marinette saying that he thought his father might—sort of, occasionally, with all due respect—suck. Marinette figured he’d been thinking about something specific, but he wasn’t very forthcoming with details, so Marinette still isn’t sure what happened. </p><p>“If you want to talk,” Marinette says, slowly, “I’ll listen. But I also won’t be bothered if you keep it to yourself.”</p><p>Of course, that’s a bit of a lie. Marinette <em>is </em>bothered, because she wants to help Adrien, and she can’t do that if he keeps shutting her out. But she’s trying to remember what Adrien told Ladybug the night she visited him: that his problems aren’t something she can solve.</p><p>Marinette’s not sure that’s true. Either way, as much as she hates passively supporting him, it’s the best she can do for now.</p><p>“It’s just more of the usual,” Adrien says, shrugging. He murmurs <em>sorry </em>when Marinette has to readjust the tape around his arm. “I tried to talk to my father about some things, and he shut me down. I mean, it’s not surprising, but…”</p><p>Marinette can tell Adrien is holding back, but she feels a flutter of hope in her chest. Is he finally starting to confide in her? Is he going to let her in?</p><p><em>Don’t pry, </em>Marinette’s internal Tikki-voice says. <em>Let him open up at his own pace.</em></p><p>Writing down measurements, Marinette says, “Just because it’s not surprising, that doesn’t make it any better.”</p><p>Adrien sighs. “Yeah. It…it wasn’t great.”</p><p>Marinette moves to Adrien’s other arm and waits to see if he’ll say anything else. When he’s been silent for a full minute, she realizes that he’s not really hesitating—he’s just brooding.</p><p>“So!” Marinette says. “Alya mentioned the other day that you two are working on a project together?”  </p><p>“Hm? Oh, yeah.” To Marinette’s relief, a smile appears on Adrien’s face. “It’s for the Ladyblog. We’re creating a virtual walking tour for the sites of akuma attacks. So, like, it’s a map, and clicking each point pulls up pictures of the area. And for each spot, there’s a master list of all the akuma attacks that took place there, with links to videos on the Ladyblog.”</p><p>“That sounds neat,” Marinette says. “So, what’s your role?”</p><p>“I’m taking the pictures,” Adrien says. He frowns. “I’m not sure why Alya needs me, though. She could definitely take the photos on her own, and my schedule is hard to accommodate.”</p><p>“I’m sure you’re doing great.” Marinette smiles and jots down a few measurements, glad that she’s gotten Adrien’s mind off his father. “Are you enjoying the photography?”</p><p>“Yeah, actually! I’ve always been interested in it, but I never really knew what to photograph.” Adrien rubs the back of his neck. “Actually, I’ve been taking some photos for myself, too.”</p><p>“Really?” Marinette wraps the tape around Adrien’s arm and squints at the number. “What kind?”</p><p>“Oh, it—it’s nothing exciting.”</p><p>“If it’s a project you’re working on, I’m interested,” Marinette says. “So…?”</p><p>“Right,” Adrien says, like he doesn’t quite believe her. “Um, textures? Like…texture shots. I guess since I grew up surrounded by fashion, I’ve always noticed that sort of thing. I like how clothes look, but since I’m wearing them, I’m more interested in how they feel, you know? It’s why I like lace so much.” One of his teeth digs into his bottom lip, and his eyes dart away. “Sorry. I feel dumb saying all that.”</p><p>“What?” Marinette says. “No! I like hearing about your interests. Are you photographing fabric textures, then?”</p><p>Adrien shakes his head. “Stuff outside, mostly. I spot things when Alya and I are walking around. Bricks, chipped paint, plants. Things like that.” He perks up. “Oh! I also like photographing people. Actually, I like that more than textures. Sometimes I make up stories for the people I photograph.” He grimaces. “Um, is that creepy?”</p><p>“I do that, too,” Marinette says. “Whenever I people-watch. There’s a man who’s come to the bakery every Tuesday for the past month, and he always orders a single chocolate macaron. I’ve decided that they remind him of his lost love Isabelle, who left him for a Swiss chocolate maker.”</p><p>Adrien laughs. “Thank goodness I’m not the only one. I thought I was weird.”</p><p>“Well, if you are, then we’re weird together.” Grinning, Marinette gestures for Adrien to lift his arms again. “Alright. Now I need some chest measurements.”</p><p>“Are you sure you don’t want me to take the shirt off?” Adrien asks, waggling his eyebrows. “I’m happy to provide some entertainment, if you want. I know measuring is boring work.”</p><p>Marinette rolls her eyes. “I’ll survive.” Telling herself that he’s just teasing—and <em>not </em>flirting, because she doesn’t know what to do with that possibility—she begins wrapping the tape around Adrien’s pecs. To her confusion, he twitches as her fingers slightly brush his chest. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“It tickles, is all.”</p><p>Marinette pinches the tape and reads the number. Adrien’s chest measurement is a bit bigger than she thought—apparently she underestimated his muscle. “Don’t you get this done pretty often?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Adrien says. “But, well…usually by people who are three times older than me.”</p><p>Marinette frowns as she notes the measurement in her notebook. “It’s just me.”</p><p>Adrien snorts. “Sure. <em>Just </em>you.”</p><p>“What do you…” Marinette trails off, realizing that Adrien’s cheeks are pink, his eyes pointedly avoiding hers. Alya’s speculations about his crush echo in her mind, and she holds back a squeak. “Right! I mean, it makes sense that it would be more awkward, doing this with one of your peers. That totally makes sense.”  </p><p>“That’s not really what I—”</p><p>“Waist!” Marinette says. “Come on, we’re losing daylight.”</p><p>“We are?” Adrien says, forehead scrunched. “But it’s only half-past noon.”</p><p>“It’s, uh…cloudy,” Marinette says. She glances out the window and sees the sun shining brightly outside. “Or, um, it’s <em>supposed </em>to get cloudy! Maybe. I think. Anyway, you can relax your arms now.”</p><p>Eyebrow quirked, Adrien lowers his arms. “Everything okay?”</p><p>“I’m great!” Marinette says. She wraps the tape around Adrien’s waist, determined not to focus on how low his jeans sit on his hips. (At least the undershirt is tucked in, so that Marinette doesn’t have to lose her mind over any glimpses of skin.) “Anyway, I’d love to see your photos sometime. Maybe I could even get some inspiration from them!”</p><p>“Really?” Adrien says, eyes widening. “That would be really cool. We could even work together, if you want! I mean, I’m not a designer, but—we could collaborate. I have a few ideas, actually—uh, I don’t design, but I draw a little, so…”</p><p>Marinette grins. “It’s nice seeing you so enthusiastic.”</p><p>Adrien laughs. “Is it?”</p><p>“Mm hm. And we could definitely collaborate!” Marinette says. “I don’t want to take away time from your project with Alya, though.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it.” Adrien lifts a hand to his lips, as if he’s about to whisper a secret to Marinette. “Actually, if I’m being honest, the photography projects are kind of just an excuse to hang out with Alya. Remember? As long as I’m spending time with friends <em>constructively, </em>my father allows it.” He frowns. “I still haven’t figured out an excuse for Nino, though. And père doesn’t really like having him in the mansion. Right now, Nino’s only allowed to wait in the foyer to pick up Alya.”</p><p>“That’s stupid,” Marinette says.</p><p>“Yeah. I mean, it <em>is </em>stupid. Just because my father doesn’t have any friends, that doesn’t mean <em>I </em>can’t have any.”</p><p>Marinette snorts. “Did you just insult fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste’s social life?”</p><p>“I can’t insult something that doesn’t exist,” Adrien says, winking. “So, are you done with torso measurements?”</p><p>“Almost. I just need your neck and shoulders.” As Marinette moves to wrap the tape around Adrien’s throat, his hair brushes her fingers. “My offer still stands, if you want me to tell off your father.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Adrien says. “I don’t want you to get banned along with Nino.” He shifts from one foot to another as Marinette unwraps the tape. “Um, are you almost done?”</p><p>“Getting there,” Marinette says, as she notes the neck measurement. “Why? Have somewhere to be?”</p><p>“N-no,” Adrien says, shoulders wiggling as Marinette stretches the tape from one shoulder to the other. “I’m just, uh…a little sensitive.”</p><p>That’s one difference between Adrien and Chat, then—because while Adrien itches at the slightest touch, Chat has no qualms about falling asleep half-on top of Marinette. It must be a cat thing.</p><p>What would cuddling with <em>Adrien </em>be like? Marinette tries to imagine it, but there’s something awkward about the image. They don’t really have that level of intimacy, do they?</p><p><em>You could, </em>she reminds herself. <em>You just have to give it time. </em></p><p>Sighing, Marinette records the last two measurements, then turns back to Adrien. “Okay, time for the other half.”</p><p>“Right,” Adrien says. “I’ll just, uh…”</p><p>Clearing his throat, Adrien slowly undoes the button of his jeans, and Marinette glances over her measurements to make sure she got everything. When she looks up a second later, she yelps and covers her eyes.</p><p>For the two seconds she looked, she’d seen Adrien standing in front of her, jeans draped over his arm—and he was wearing lime green boxer briefs.</p><p>“Sorry,” Adrien says. “Uh…should I have worn boxers? I thought those wouldn’t be loose enough—”</p><p>“I thought I said spandex leggings!” Marinette says, lowering her hands. She forces her eyes to stay on Adrien’s face, rather than the neon glare below his waist. “Did—didn’t you bring spandex?”</p><p>Adrien frowns. “When did you say that?”</p><p>“In the text I sent you?” Marinette holds her notebook up to her face, subtly blocking Adrien’s lower half from view. “Two hours ago?”</p><p>He must have seen it! They’d kept texting for a few minutes after she sent that text. And if this is his attempt at flirting, well, Marinette isn’t amused. She’s doing her best to maintain her composure while measuring a <em>literal teen model, </em>and Adrien has ruined those efforts by marching into her room in bright green underwear.</p><p>“Sorry, Marinette,” Adrien says. “I didn’t see it. Hold on, let me check.”</p><p>He turns to grab his jacket off the chaise longue—forcing Marinette to avert her gaze from his brightly-clad rear—and fishes his phone out of the pocket. After scrolling for a moment, he nods. “Oh, that’s why. You sent it right before the cat video.”</p><p><em>“That’s </em>why you didn’t see it?”</p><p>Adrien laughs. “Sorry. I get distracted easily by cat stuff.”</p><p>“You…you missed my important text because of a cat video,” Marinette clarifies.</p><p>“Um. Pretty much.” Adrien blushes. “I—I really like dumb cat videos.”</p><p>On one hand, Marinette wants to rail for five minutes about how Adrien should read his texts more carefully. On the other, she’s impressed that Tikki correctly guessed that Adrien would enjoy stupid cat videos.</p><p>“Do you want me to run home and change?” Adrien asks. “Or I could come back another time—”</p><p>“No, no, don’t worry about it,” Marinette says. “I’m not bothered! Really. I was just caught off-guard. Those are…very bright!”</p><p>“Unlike me,” Adrien mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “I am so embarrassed right now. I can’t believe I missed your text and stripped to my underwear.”</p><p>A small laugh slips past Marinette’s lips before she can stop it. “Well, this isn’t the first misunderstanding that led to you getting half-naked in front of me.”</p><p>Adrien groans into his palm. “Sure, rub it in.”</p><p>“It’s your color, at least.”</p><p>“I’m never taking my clothes off again.”</p><p>“Good luck showering like that,” Marinette says. Even as she teases, though, she’s worried about Adrien’s embarrassment. Is this something he’s going to replay later tonight, worried that Marinette was judging him? She can’t let that happen. “But Adrien, you really didn’t do anything wrong. I should have double-checked with you before you left your house.”</p><p>Silence. Adrien has covered his face with both hands, and the tips of his ears are a furious red.</p><p>“Honestly, spandex leggings wouldn’t be much different!” Marinette adds. “Really, it’s good you wore these instead of boxers…”</p><p>Adrien still doesn’t say anything, and Marinette desperately brainstorms a way to make him feel better.  Should she rip off her pants so that they’re even? No, that will only make things worse. Surely there’s something she can do, though…something that will distract him, and cheer him up…</p><p>Ah ha.</p><p>“Don’t worry about me,” Marinette says. “It takes more than a butt in bright green underwear to distract me. I’m a pro-<em>fesse</em>-ionnel, after all.”</p><p>Another moment of silence. And another. Then Adrien’s shoulders start shaking, and he removes his hand from his face to reveal a broad smile.</p><p>“W-wait,” he says, breaking into laughter. “Did you—did you just—”</p><p>“Great!” Marinette says, blushing. “You’re smiling. Moving on—”</p><p>“Did you just make an <em>ass </em>pun?”</p><p>“Let’s not dwell on it!”</p><p>“That’s a joke I can get <em>behind, </em>though.<em>” </em></p><p>“No,” Marinette groans. “Please, no. Not butt puns.”</p><p>“You started it!” Adrien clutches his abdomen and doubles over with a new bout of laughter. “Oh, wow. You made a butt joke.”</p><p>“I didn’t think you’d be this excited about it,” Marinette grumbles.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Adrien says, his laughter dying down. “I’ll keep the rest of my butt puns to myself.” He snickers. “Pro-<em>fesse</em>-ionnel. Um, anyway…you’re fine measuring me like this, then?”</p><p>“Of course!” Marinette says, not at all fine.</p><p>Somehow, though, she manages to take all the leg and hip measurements she needs without bursting into flames. It’s hard, though, when she has to see so much of Adrien. Even his calves are criminal! They look like they’re straight out of an anatomy book, which just isn’t fair.</p><p>Then there’s his ass, of course. But Marinette tries not to look too much at that.</p><p>(She fails.)</p><p>Face burning, Marinette scrawls the last measurement in her notebook—she’s pretty sure her hand leaves a sweat mark on the paper—and then she tosses the pencil down. “And we’re done!” she says. “You can put your clothes back on.”</p><p>“Oh, can I?” Adrien says. “I was afraid I’d have to leave like this.”</p><p>Marinette rolls her eyes and points to the chaise longue. “Get dressed. I’ll go tell maman that we’re ready for snacks.”</p><p>She leaves, and a few minutes later, she and Adrien are sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room, munching on macarons as Adrien shows Marinette cat videos.</p><p>“Where do you <em>get </em>these?” she asks, watching for the fourth time as a cat knocks a mug of coffee onto a laptop. “It’s like you have an entire collection.”</p><p>“Oh, I do,” Adrien says. “This entire folder is cat videos and memes.”</p><p>Marinette snorts. Adrien Agreste, cat meme connoisseur—who would have thought?</p><p>Adrien closes out of the folder, and as he does, Marinette glimpses something else: a black-and-white shot, some sort of abstract pattern with high contrast.</p><p>“Oh,” she says, scattering crumbs on the floor as she leans forward. “What was that? The black and white photo.”</p><p>“Nothing.” Adrien locks his phone and sets it on his lap. “I mean, well—I have a few of my photography folders synced from my computer to my phone, and that was one of them.”</p><p>“Can I see?”</p><p>Adrien fiddles with the phone. “Um, what if you think they’re bad?”</p><p>“Would you ever think my designs were bad?”</p><p>“What?” Adrien asks, forehead creasing. “No, never. What does that have to do with—”</p><p>“I’m sure your stuff is great.” Marinette taps his phone screen. “Show me, please?”</p><p>“I—I guess? If you really want to see.”</p><p>Marinette forces herself to keep smiling, even as her stomach twists at Adrien’s demeanor. Does he always have so little confidence in his work? Then again, he did once say that he’s overcritical of himself—something that he learned from his father, no doubt.</p><p>“I really want to see,” Marinette confirms. “So…?”</p><p>With a sigh, Adrien unlocks his phone and pulls up the folder. “Okay. Uh, I know this one isn’t perfect, but—”</p><p>“Stop that,” Marinette says, then winces. She didn’t mean to order Adrien around like that. “I—I mean, Adrien, you can just show me the photos. Don’t tell me they’re bad.”</p><p>“R-right,” Adrien says. “So, I took this when Alya and I were at la Place des Vosges, and…yeah.”</p><p>Marinette leans against Adrien to see the phone, which he insists on holding in front of himself. The photo features some sort of stone texture: it has raised circles with lines down the center, deep shadows beneath them, and white speckles from either wear or a stain. It takes her a few moments to recognize it.</p><p>“Oh!” she says. “That’s the rim of the fountain! You cut out the lions, so I almost didn’t recognize it.”</p><p>“I thought they might be distracting. I do have a photo with them, though…” Adrien swipes through a few photos too quickly for Marinette to see, then pulls up a shot taken from below, staring up at the chin of one of the lions. “Except that’s kind of a weird angle, now that I think of it. You can’t really tell—”</p><p>“Adrien,” Marinette says, touching his arm. “I want to enjoy your art, but it’s hard when there’s a critic next to me who keeps tearing it apart.” She raises her eyebrows meaningfully.</p><p>“Sorry,” Adrien mumbles. “I’m used to pointing out the flaws in my work. It hurts less if I find them before my father does, you know?”</p><p>Marinette inhales deeply through her nose, doing her best to smother her rage. “I’m having some very unkind thoughts about your father right now.”</p><p>“Yeah. Me too, sometimes.” Clearing his throat, Adrien closes out of the photo app. “Anyway, that’s all I have, so—”</p><p>“I don’t believe that,” Marinette says. “Can you show me some more? Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”</p><p>Adrien grimaces, then slowly hands the phone to Marinette. “You should probably just look at them without me. I can’t criticize the photos if I can’t see them, right?”</p><p>That still doesn’t sit right with Marinette—but she can’t push any more. Adrien’s clearly doing his best: even though he’s struggling to speak and he avoids her eyes, there’s an openness in is words. He’s mad at his father. He’s self-conscious about his work. And he’s <em>admitting </em>that to Marinette, rather than bottling it up and hiding it away.</p><p>“Thank you,” Marinette murmurs, cradling the phone in her hands.</p><p>“Hm? For what?”</p><p>“For telling me,” she says. “About your father, and your photography. I, um—I know it’s not the same, but I used to feel the same way whenever you asked to see something I drew. I was worried you’d hate my designs.”</p><p>“What?” Adrien says. “Marinette, I would never—”</p><p>“I know!” Marinette says. “And this isn’t about me. I just wanted to say that there’s nothing wrong with worrying about criticism.” She tentatively reopens the folder and scrolls back to the first shot of the fountain. “I’m really happy to see your work, Adrien. I love hearing about your hobbies and interests! And I—I appreciate hearing about things that bother you, too, because then I can be there for you. I mean, if…if you want.”</p><p>She can’t bring herself to look at Adrien, but she feels his eyes on her, his gaze hot like a brand. “I do want that,” he says. “But it’s difficult to admit some things.”</p><p>“That’s fine!” Marinette says. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know that even when you don’t say anything, I’m here for the things you’re not saying. Unless that makes you uncomfortable, in which case I’m only here for the things that you <em>are </em>saying—I mean, not physically here, sometimes, but, you know—”</p><p>Adrien laughs quietly. “I know what you mean. Thank you, Marinette. Really. And that goes both ways, you know.” Marinette finally looks over to see Adrien reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out the charm bracelet she gave him. “Plus, technically I <em>do </em>always have you with me. I take this lucky charm everywhere.”</p><p>Marinette blushes. “That—that’s good! I don’t think my whole body would fit in your pocket, ha…”</p><p>Adrien snorts, and his cheeks are flushed as he stows the bracelet back in his pocket. “Anyway, you can look at the photos. I’ll be quiet now.”</p><p>Again, Marinette feels like Adrien is holding back—except this time, she’s not sure she wants him to share. Alya’s warning rings in her mind, and Marinette feels anxiety crawling up her neck at the thought of Adrien having feelings for her.</p><p>She’s not sure what to say if he asks her out.</p><p>She’s not sure if she still wants him to.</p><p>Suddenly, every casual touch seems too intimate. If Marinette hugs him, will that send the wrong message? If she kisses him on the cheek, is that too close to a kiss on the lips? If she holds his hand, is that too much like something a romantic partner would do?</p><p>Marinette settles for bumping her shoulder against Adrien’s. “I think it’s really sweet that you kept the lucky charm. I’m glad I gave it to you.” She glances down at the phone in her hands and swipes to a new picture. This one is something smooth, with deep shadows and lines that remind Marinette of wrinkles in fabric, or maybe cracks in stone. “That…huh. I’m not sure what that is.”</p><p>“Really?” Adrien says, perking up. “You don’t have any guesses?”</p><p>“Stone?” Marinette says, squinting at the photo. “No, wait, that’s not right. Maybe…oh! Are those veins? Is it a leaf?”</p><p>“Yeah!” Adrien says. “I’m glad you couldn’t guess right away, though. I was trying to abstract the shape, so—um, is this boring?”</p><p>“Not at all,” Marinette says. “Tell me about the rest?”</p><p>To her delight, Adrien does. He asks Marinette to guess where certain photos were taken, and the answers almost always surprise her—is that really the stained glass in the front door of Le grand Paris? The corner of their school building? The wall along the Seine? She’d thought she knew Paris well, but Adrien’s photos make her wonder if she hasn’t been paying close enough attention to their city.</p><p>And it’s clear that despite Adrien’s past claims, he <em>does </em>have an eye for design—in fact, his approach isn’t too different from Marinette’s. Like her, he looks twice at things that other people might find mundane. Just how Marinette might base a design on a cloud, or leaves, or even pigeons, Adrien chooses otherwise-overlooked subjects for his photography.</p><p>“Wait, are those <em>shingles?” </em>she asks at one point, tapping the screen. “Like—like on a <em>roof?”</em></p><p>“Oh, uh, no,” Adrien says. He quickly reaches over and swipes to the next photo. “I forget what those are, actually. Want to guess this one instead?”</p><p>Over the next hour, Adrien rambles about leading lines, the rule of thirds, four corners, aperture, so many terms and theories of design that Marinette’s head starts to spin. Is this how other people feel when they hear her babble about fashion? It’s overwhelming. She’s even more impressed that Chat manages to keep up with her monologues.</p><p>And yet, because it’s Adrien talking, it’s not <em>really </em>overwhelming. Marinette could sit here all day listening to him talk about his photography. There’s something magical in the way he describes his inspiration and thought process. It’s a rare glimpse inside his mind, and Marinette finds herself hanging onto every word.</p><p>When Marinette’s muscles are starting to get stiff and sore from sitting on the ground for so long, Adrien’s phone dings with a text.</p><p>Adrien sighs. “Nathalie. Looks like it’s time for me to go.” His eyes widen as he stares at the phone screen. “Oh, wow. It’s been two hours. I didn’t even realize.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he adds, “I’m sorry, Marinette. I didn’t mean to talk for so long.”</p><p>“No apologies!” Marinette says. “And I can’t believe you told me you don’t have an eye for design.”</p><p>“Well, um…I still don’t know if I—”</p><p>“You definitely do,” Marinette says, resting her hand on his shoulder. “And I love hearing about your work, so you don’t need to apologize. In fact, I’d like to see more of it sometime, if you’re willing to share.”</p><p>“Sure!” Adrien says. “And if you still want to collaborate on a design project…?”</p><p>“Absolutely!” Marinette says. “Once we’re done with this competition, for sure. Actually, I got a few ideas from your photos just now. I’ll have to write them down before I forget.”</p><p>“Really?” Adrien asks. “I—wow, I can’t believe I inspired you. Or, I mean, that my photos did.” His cheeks darken, and his eyes dart away. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Believe it,” Marinette says firmly. “Your photos are great, Adrien. You’re really talented.” Yawning, she gest to her feet and holds out a hand. “We’d better get you downstairs before your father sends in the rescue helicopters.”</p><p>Adrien groans as he takes her hand and lets her haul him to his feet. “Don’t joke about that. I got lost on the playground when I was four, and he almost called the National Guard.”</p><p>His fingers remain twined with Marinette’s even once he’s standing. Reluctantly, Marinette pulls her hand away, noticing that Adrien’s fingers remain curled once her hand is gone. “All the more reason to hurry, then!”</p><p>Marinette’s parents are already back in the bakery when Adrien and Marinette make their way downstairs. Nathalie is standing inside the front door, her face as stoic and dour as ever—although Marinette things she sees the hints of a smile when Nathalie’s eyes land on Adrien.</p><p>It’s still not very comforting, though. Why should Adrien live off subtle smiles and crumbs of affection, when he deserves to be surrounded by people who are loud with their love?</p><p>“Great work today!” Marinette says, just in case Nathalie is keeping tabs on whether Adrien used his time <em>constructively. </em>“I might need you again for more measurements, depending on how much the designs change. But I think I’ve got what I need, for now!”</p><p>She’s bluffing, of course; there still aren’t any designs yet. Nathalie and Gabriel don’t need to know that, though—if Marinette invites Adrien over for “fittings” that never happen, that’s between her and Adrien.</p><p>Nathalie nods. “That’s good. Best of luck with your designs, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. Monsieur Agreste looks forward to seeing them.”</p><p>Beckoning for Adrien, she turns and opens the door.</p><p>Adrien glances between Marinette’s parents and Nathalie. One of his teeth digs into his bottom lip, and when his eyes land on Marinette, she realizes he’s probably figuring out how to say goodbye.</p><p>Before Adrien can do something like kiss her on the cheek—a thought which, for some reason, has Marinette’s stomach in tangles—she wraps him in a loose hug and murmurs, “Thank you. I had fun today.”</p><p>Adrien’s arms squeeze her back, and then he withdraws from the hug. “Me too,” he says, face red. “I’ll, uh—I’ll see you around, Marinette!”</p><p>Waving, he follows Nathalie out of the bakery, leaving Marinette alone with her parents.  </p><p>The bakery is silent for three seconds, and then Tom asks, “You two didn’t kiss, did you?”</p><p>“Papa!” Marinette shrieks, as Sabine laughs. “No! Definitely not!”</p><p>Strangely, saying those words feels like a sigh of relief.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Explanation of the butt pun--"fesse" is basically one of the words for "butt" in French. (And yes...yes, Marinette, those <i>were</i> shingles 😂 Weird! I wonder how Adrien got on a roof!)</p><p>P.S. If you’re looking for some more Adrinette to read while you wait for the next chapter, I‘d like to plug my most recent <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29512608">Adrinette one-shot</a>, which is a no-Miraculous AU involving some folklorish/mythological stuff! Check it out if you’re interested :)</p><p>
  <b>Update 2021-04-04: The next chapter for this fic will be posted in May!</b>
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